Where Do We Go From Here?
by Chione
Summary: Eventually Finchel. My take on the storyline post-Special Education. "Dreams die hard and we hold them in our hands long after they've turned to dust."
1. why is the path unclear

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or any of the songs found here.

I'm not usually one for songfics, and I wouldn't consider this one, really. But there are songs in it given the fact that it's Glee. Also, this is my first attempt at Glee fic, so be gentle, please? I'm still getting used to the characters.

Feedback much appreciated! More to come. This will be at most a 3-part story.

* * *

She'd given up the chance at a solo, and for the first time in her life, Rachel Berry didn't care.

She didn't feel like singing.

A few days ago, that feeling would've worried her. It'd have been the end of the world. She'd have thrown herself into a ballad (one of those old school Broadway songs that she never had a chance to perform but couldn't help perfecting her rendition just in case an audition fell in her lap) and forced herself through the feeling. Feelings came and went, but her goal never wavered. She'd known what she'd wanted in life since she was four years old and got to sing a solo in front of her pre-school class to the praise of her teachers.

Now they'd won sectionals (a tie still counted as a win, though the vindictive part of her wanted to stick her tongue out at Mr. Schu and say I-told-you-so. If there was anyone who knew how to compete, it was Rachel Berry). A win, the chance to go to Regionals, the offer of a solo—none of it mattered anymore.

For the first time in her life, she wondered if it was worth it. Her life to this point had been dedicated to an idealized future of stardom, bright lights, and applause. All the taunting, all the teasing, the slushies, the snide remarks, the constant insults. The years of loneliness, of spending her free time in her bedroom singing her heart out all by herself, of watching the people her age grow up and make friends and connections and experience things she could only dream of. Wondering what it would be like to have your phone ringing with the voices of people who want to talk to you and hang out with you and know where you are or what you're up to. Wondering how it felt to go to the movies with a group of friends then go out afterward for coffee (or tea, because she couldn't abide the taste of coffee though she knew most of her peers loved it) and ice cream.

Glee Club was supposed to be her chance. Her shot at fitting in with people who shared her interests and dreams. It had been rocky at first, so few of them and then the cheerleaders and jocks joined up and it seemed like they would take Glee away from her too. Then the miraculous happened. They got along; not all the time, and no one really contacted her outside of rehearsal, but they talked to her. They included her. It may have only been for her talent, but she was appreciated.

She'd had boyfriends. Three of them, and three of the hottest guys in school, all interested in her, Rachel Berry man-hands, when no boy had ever spared her a second glance (Jacob ben Israel didn't count. He creeped her out, and half of her felt bad because it was the same half that wondered whether that was how the rest of the world perceived her).

They'd come together at Regionals and despite the loss, the summer had been blissful. She hadn't had to think about being lonely because she spent so much time with Finn (and when she wasn't with Finn, she was singing and dancing which had gotten so familiar it hardly seemed lonely anymore). She'd deluded herself into thinking her life would change, that it had finally taken a turn for the better. She was on her way up, not stuck forever in the sub-basement of the social hierarchy.

Except she wasn't. A delusion was all it had ever been, and it was gone now.

_We all just pretend to like you._

She could still hear Santana's voice in her head and the deafening silence from the boy beside her still caused her heart to ache. He hadn't said anything, he hadn't defended her just as he'd let nasty comments and glares slid on every other occasion. Didn't he care how much they hurt? Didn't he know? Did he agree or did he stay quiet because he assumed she could take care of herself?

But he did agree, didn't he?

_Well, Santana has a point. Just tryin' to be honest._ He'd laughed at her when Santana called her a dwarf and insulted her clothes. He'd complained when she changed her look to be more attractive, and she'd changed for him because she wanted him to be happy.

He didn't understand. None of them did, except maybe Kurt, and he was gone now. Singing was the only thing she'd ever been good at. People listened when she sang, they paid attention. When she was singing, people knew she existed and they may not like her, but they liked her singing. And that was something, wasn't it? She was useful, Glee club needed her. That was what she comforted herself with at night when she couldn't sleep and the thoughts of what it might be like to be someone else—Quinn, maybe, or Mercedes, or even (God help her) Santana—and have friends. To have a place to belong. To be someone people liked.

They may not like her, but they needed her. And it was better than nothing at all.

But at Sectionals, they'd won with her as little more than a background singer. A back-up to Quinn and Santana and Sam and Brittany. What if they realized they didn't need her anymore? If they could win without her, why keep her around? Why bother with an obnoxious man-handed dwarf with animals on her sweaters?

She spent years ignoring their opinions because they were jealous, right? She was talented. She had an amazing voice, and they envied that which made them mean.

Only, why be jealous of her? Since Glee Club started, they'd all grown so much into their voices, developed skills and training they'd lacked before. They had friends, a surrogate family, inside jokes, talent, and (now with Sectionals) success.

Why be jealous of her?

So if they weren't jealous, why say all the horrible things they did? If a reasonable, good man like Mr. Schuester—someone she respected— thought she was so horrible then maybe, maybe it was true. Maybe she was horrible. And even though she could sing, so could the rest of them. If she wasn't the best, and she wasn't the star, what good was she? Why would any of them even pretend to be her friend anymore?

_Our family's back in a happy place._

Sure, Mr. Schu. As long as she didn't count as part of the family. And to be honest, she probably never had.

They'd finished their run-thru for the afternoon, she'd cleaned out her locker, and found herself sitting in her car by the side of the road just outside the city limits. A stuffed bag sat on the passenger seat, one she hadn't even remembered packing except there it was, and who else could've put it there? She didn't know what she planned to do, or why she'd driven out here, but she'd had to get out of town, even for a little while. The memory of Finn and Santana twirling around during rehearsal today, the knowledge that no one bothered to ask her what was wrong when she'd done nothing to hid her sorrow, the humiliation of having no one defend her (except Puck, which barely registered because it wasn't Finn) from Santana.

Maybe if she pretended the last year and a half hadn't happened, she'd go back to the way she was. Rachel Berry, future star, confident in herself and her goals. Rachel Berry who didn't need anyone other than her dads, because she liked herself and she was fine keeping her own company.

The problem with social interaction is that it's hard to let go once you've tasted it.

Was she ever going to fit in?

What if she got to Broadway and found out it was exactly like high school, where she was the bottom rung of the social latter, stepped on no matter how much she tried to fight back? What if—and here her breath got stuck in the back of her throat—what if she failed? She'd failed to hold on to the boy she loved for more than a few months, and she'd been so sure they could make it. So determined to see it through.

It appeared romantic relationships, like friendships, was something else at which she didn't excel.

But no matter. The fact that all this mess had made her resort to a pity-party pissed her off. She didn't want pity; not from anyone, and certainly not from herself.

Glee used to be the one part of her day where she didn't feel completely miserable, where she could be herself because even if she was obnoxious, they needed her. They rubbed her faults in her face all the time—dwarfish, big nose, selfish, spoiled, diva, arrogant, fashion-challenged, sad clown hooker. She remembered every single word like they were glued to her ear. They were all better dressed, better friends, better people.

Was it so wrong to point out the one thing she was better at?

If she wasn't the best at singing, then she really didn't matter. She wasn't the prettiest (Quinn), or the hottest (Santana), or the nicest (Finn or Tina or Artie or anyone but her), or the smartest. She wasn't even the most different (Kurt). If she hadn't the best voice, then she wasn't really special at all, was she? She was just a loser who couldn't sing and dressed like a cross between a child and a grandma.

Most of her wished she could take back her mistake with Puck. The rest felt vindicated. Finn was hurt—he really had cared about her. And if he felt even a fraction of what she did when watching him check out Santana in the hallway, then she had succeeded. It didn't make her a very good person, but at least she wasn't the only one hurting. Yes, she chose Puck, of all people, to hurt him the most. But didn't he know why it made a difference who he'd been with? If it had been someone else, anyone else, it wouldn't have hurt so bad.

But Santana had made her life a living hell since they'd met, and the cheerleader took pleasure in rubbing her face in whatever misfortunes befell her. The worst of her tormentors, and one of three girls Finn had left her for once already (she forgave him for Quinn, forgave him for the Santana-Brittany double date, how much more was she expected to bend before she snapped?) Why couldn't Finn have, at least once, tried to apologize for keeping it a secret? Tried to defend her from Santana's taunting? Tried to reassure her that it had meant nothing, that she, Rachel, was the one he cared about.

Rubbing her hands against her face, heedless of the make-up that had long-since been smeared to nothingness, she choked on her own sobs rather than let them out anymore.

She didn't know what to do. There was no one for her to turn to, no friend to comfort her and not even an ally to hear her out. Why was she the only one in Glee whose sins were unforgivable? Finn had forgiven his best friend for sleeping with his girlfriend, forgiven Quinn for lying about the baby and taking advantage of his kindness; Santana had forgiven Quinn for stealing back her role as head cheerleader; Quinn had forgiven Santana for being a bitch and stabbing her in the back, she'd forgiven Puck for getting her pregnant; Artie had forgiven Tina for breaking up with him for Mike; Kurt had forgiven Mercedes for busting out his car windows!

If nothing changed, she couldn't do Glee anymore. The thought nearly brought forth another round of sobs, but she clenched her eyes shut until the burn of tears passed. She was drowning in all of the drama Glee brought, and no one tried to help. No one even noticed. She'd lost her one true connection to that world, and spending all her time in the same room as Finn and Santana—the thought made her sick. She might not have a gag reflex, but that certainly turned her stomach enough to make her nauseous.

She'd swallowed her pride, apologized, conceded roles, extended a friendly hand to her fellow Glee Clubbers so many times. Maybe she wasn't the most gracious at it, but she did it. That had to count for something. Right?

When was it someone else's turn to do the same for her?

* * *

She went home when it got dark out, greeting her fathers with a kiss on the cheek and a smile she'd perfected over hundreds of hours of practicing. After dinner, she brushed her teeth and set up her camera to make another video for MySpace. She'd been lax in updating it recently, but no more. It was something else to focus on, at least.

She'd been reciting the song lyrics in her head all evening. And even if she didn't feel like singing, she knew she could nail it. Jane Eyre had never been a musical she liked, but the song suited her mood perfectly.

_What a fool I have been to wonder if he might have a care for me_

_How insane a thought!_

_That you could be to him dear in any way_

_That a more absurd young girl has lived I doubt that you could say_

_Gifted with the power, your logic's failing by the hour_

_and to no avail!_

_Poor blind puppy,_

_Had to go on dreaming, had to try to give your life some meaning_

_Still you failed, Jane_

_How dare you think there's a place in his heart for you?_

_I'm painting my portrait, an absolute likeness_

_Faithful to illustrate every fine line_

_I'm mastering detail, highlighting defects_

_Making a permanent mirror to see_

_all of the faults that lie hidden in me_

_I'm painting my portrait_

_It's plain and uneven_

_Reminding me what I am, what I must be_

_I'm leaving out nothing no matter how painful_

_All of my flaws on display to be seen_

_Now my painting is done_

_I'll start another_

_This one of her_

_And when I close my eyes, I clearly see her face_

_Capture her grace and poise, fight back the tears_

_And I'm painting her portrait, an absolute likeness_

_The loveliest face, the most delicate skin_

_A tribute to beauty, the perfect Miss Ingram_

_Omit neither diamond ring, nor golden rose_

_Make her a lady of rank, glistening satin_

_Oh how she glows!_

_Mix in your finest hints, paint her dramatically_

_with all your sweetest hues, sit here fanatically_

_painting our portraits_

_This one will live all of her life as a governess_

_Just a lonely governess_

_This one will always be happy and marry a man who will carry her away!_

_And should you fancy that he really loves you_

_Just compare the pictures, two completely different mixtures_

_You should be ashamed, Jane!_

_Why would he trade his silver for some unpolished metal?_

_Why would he settle for a slave when he can have a queen?_

_Jane it's foreseen, Jane!_

_Don't even dare anymore to compare!_

_Say a prayer for your sorry soul, Jaaane!_

She wiped the tears away and didn't bother uploading it before going to bed. No one watched them, anyway. And those who did left cruel messages about her parentage and need for sterilization.

There was no point in broadcasting her pain for all of them to see and ridicule. She'd find a happier song tomorrow.

* * *

The next day passed much the same. Exercise, class, lunch alone in the Glee room, class, Glee rehearsal, then home to occupy herself. Then the next week passed, then a month. It was the last day of school before Christmas break, and nothing had changed. No one in Glee seemed to notice her silence at rehearsal, or if they did, they were only glad of it and not worried for its cause.

(When she failed to add her two cents on song selection for the third week in a row, Mr. Schu had pulled her aside.

"Everything alright, Rachel? I've noticed you haven't been as engaged lately." Mr. Schu had asked, his patented worried-about-one-of-his-students look on his face. He himself had been somewhat subdued since the news of Ms. Pillsbury's marriage but she hadn't pointed that out.

"Everything's fine, Mr. Schu," she'd answered, her bright smile as bright as ever. "I'm just trying to be more of a team player."

If he'd caught the sarcasm in her tone, he hadn't said anything.

No one else mentioned anything. Not even Finn.)

"Rachel Berry to Ms. Pillsbury's office, please. Rachel Berry to Ms. Pillsbury." The announcement blared over the speakers during third period, bringing the eye of every student in the class to her in her seat.

Santana whispered from two rows over, "Aw, does the counselor have to talk you out of suicide? Don't let her convince you of anything, it's probably the only way you're ever going to get famous."

Three other Cheerios giggled, and Karofsky raised a hand to give Santana a high-five. The teacher tossed them a wary glance, but didn't say anything, only motioned Rachel to take a hall pass and go.

She wasn't going to kill herself. The thought had crossed her mind, along with the imaginings of how everyone in Glee would react. Wouldn't Finn and Mr. Shu and Artie and Tina and Mercedes and Kurt, wouldn't they feel horrible if she did, to know how awful she'd felt and they'd done nothing to help? But she didn't want to die. She wanted to prove them all wrong. She wanted to be better than they were. She would succeed without them, and one day she'd look back at this and smile pityingly at these people who think they're so great.

Ms. Pillsbury—Ms. Pillsbury-_Howell_—was waiting with her hands clasped on her desktop. The look on her face was barely concealed panic. When Rachel knocked on the door, she leapt from her seat, circled the desk, and opened the door without breaking into her usual soft, wide-eyed smile.

"Come in, Rachel." Her eyes were full of pity. If there was one emotion Rachel couldn't mistake, it was pity. "Please, have a seat."

The bottom fell out of her stomach.

"Just tell me," she said, her voice cracking. Somehow, the thought of harming her voice no longer mattered. Not when she knew what Ms. Pillsbury had to say.

There were only two people in the world about which she'd be notified if something happened. Only her dads.

"Rachel, I think you should sit—"

"Just say it." Her eyes burned. Already she could see the world blurring in her vision, feel the tickle in her nose and the tension in her face. She was going to cry, and if Ms. Pillsbury would only hurry, she could get out of school before the next bell rang and people flooded the hallway to watch her run from the building in tears.

"There's been an accident," Ms. Pillsbury's eyes watered in sympathy, her voice faint. "I'm so sorry, Rachel. Your dads were in an accident. I'm supposed to drive you to the hospital. Is there anyone you want to come with us? A friend? Maybe a teacher?"

Yes. Yes, she wanted to scream. Finn. She wanted Finn to hold her, because he was so good at that. He was such a big presence, so solid and warm and able to wrap her up completely. She could cry into his chest and the sobs wouldn't hurt as much when they spilled out.

"No," she shook her head, tears falling. "No, there's no one. Let's just go."

Ms. Pillsbury looked hesitant, taking a breath to protest.

"Please."

"Alright."

They were out the door and speeding—cautiously, as only Ms. Pillsbury seemed able to do—down the highway before the end of the class period.

_There's been an accident. There's been an accident. There's been an accident._

The only words running through her head. She should ask after their condition. She should've let Mr. Schu know she wouldn't be in Spanish today, and that she wasn't going to Glee rehearsal. She should've gone back to her class to get her backpack before she left.

She couldn't do any of it. She sat in the front seat of Ms. Pillsbury's little car, staring ahead at the road, heart pounding in her ears and the sound of the counselor's voice echoing in her head.

_There's been an accident._

* * *

Will Schuester scrolled through the missed calls on his phone. He leaned against the piano, waiting for the rest of the Glee Club to show up. The cheerleaders sat on the back row, chatting happily with the boys from the football team. Artie, Tina, and Mercedes sat on the front row, gossiping about some development between Kurt and one of the boys from Dalton. Only Rachel was missing, and she was the one he least expected to ever skip practice. One of the English teachers had dropped off her backpack earlier, saying she'd left it in class. It wasn't like her to forget something like that, and he was a little unsettled.

There were two missed calls. One from Emma, and one from Rachel, which put him at ease. Rachel had called, so maybe she was running late or had to leave early today. Putting the phone to his ear, he tilted his head and listened to the recording begin.

_You have two new messages. First message:_

Emma's voice sounded after the beep. _"Hi Will. I really need to talk to you, if you could call me back as soon as you get this. It's really important."_

Then Rachel's hoarse whisper: _"I won't be at Glee today. Sorry."_ Briefer than he'd ever heard the girl be.

He frowned.

"Hey, does anyone know what happened to Rachel?" he asked, raising his voice above the din of chatter. "She's not coming to rehearsal today."

"She had some sort of meeting with Ms. Pillsbury," Santana said, crossing her arms. She pursed her lips and smirked, sharing an amused look with Brittany. "She never came back to class. Probably ran home crying like the drama-queen she is."

"Yeah, she got in a fight with Mrs. Emery yesterday for telling the class 'Merry Christmas' but not 'Happy Hanukkah,'" Mercedes said, laughing deep in her throat. "That girl takes things way too seriously."

Some of the kids smirked, or laughed, and Finn raised his hand, asking, "How do you know she's not coming. Did she call you?"

"She left me a message," Mr. Schu answered. He raised his phone and shook it. "I'm gonna make a quick call and then we'll get started, ok?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Schu," Tina said for all of them, grinning.

He waited, but Ms. Pillsbury's phone went to voicemail. The question of whether she was with Karl popped in his head, and he hung up before leaving a message. If she really needed to, she could get ahold of him.

"Alright, so," he said, clapping his hands together to get their attention. "Today I was thinking we could sing some Christmas songs. I know not all of you celebrate Christmas, but it's become a bit secular over the years too. It's a cultural tradition and I thought it'd be a nice break from worrying about Regionals."

The suggestion was met with cheers, and he smiled to himself, glad to have pleased them after the stressful month they'd all had. They really did have an incredible bond. He hoped they realized how lucky they were to be a family, to have each other.

* * *

Her daddy was dead and her dad was fighting for his life in a coma.

No matter how many times she tried to make sense of the words, they just didn't sink in. She'd just seen them this morning, and how could they be gone? How could her life have changed so much in only a day? A mere month ago seemed like a dream. Had that even happened at all? On what planet would the quarterback of the football team date her over someone like Santana or Quinn? Maybe it was all a vivid hallucination. That made more sense than reality.

She'd never seen her dad looking so unfamiliar. Laying in the hospital bed with tubes up his nose and an IV in his hand, face and body bandaged, the lines in his face haggard—he looked like a frail old man. Not her strong, protective dad who could fix anything with a hug and a glass of water.

Dragging a chair over to the bed, she plopped down in it, kicked off her shoes, and curled up as tight as she could. One hand reached out to grasp her dad's, the other hugged her legs to her chest. She buried her face in her knees, all the songs she'd ever sung running on a loop through her head, and tried not to scream.

She focused instead on deep breaths, the feel of her dad's hand in hers, the sounds of Ms. Pillsbury talking to the nurse and the—her heart twisted at the word—coroner. An adult was here to help her, at least. A relative stranger, but someone who was experienced with this. Right? Ms. Pillsbury would know what to do. She'd know how to talk to the hospital people, the doctors, how to arrange a—Rachel couldn't even think the word in her head. Not a funeral. It'd be final with a funeral. And her dad would be devastated to miss it.

"Rachel?" Ms. Pillsbury inquired, putting a delicate hand on Rachel's shoulder. It was a point in her favor that she hadn't even put a glove on first. "It's late. You haven't eaten since breakfast. Would you like me to drop you off at a friend's house for the night? I'm sure any of the kids in Glee would be glad to have you over until your dad wakes up. You shouldn't be alone. And you need to eat something."

"I'm staying here with my dad." She didn't lift her head to speak. " I'll eat at the cafeteria. Thanks, though."

"Rachel—"

She jerked her head up, dislodging Ms. Pillsbury's arm from her shoulder. "I'm not leaving him." Tears spilled from her eyes, chin trembling even as she clenched it shut. "He's all I have left."

Ms. Pillsbury fell silent, hands clasped in front of her. After a moment of furrowed brows, she finally whispered, "You still have Glee. And what about Finn? You two seemed to care about each other."

"Finn and I are done," she choked past the lump in her throat that might've been her heart with the way her insides were suddenly churning. "And none of them give a damn about me." She couldn't believe she'd just cursed, but everything in her mouth tasted like ash, even the words, and every time she thought of one of her so-called friends, the memory of their bitten-back smiles at Santana's revelation bubbled up from deep in her chest where a thick, ugly darkness stewed and festered. The nonchalant admission that every single one of them had known about Finn and Santana and had kept it from her.

_We all just pretend to like you._

"You can't tell them," she said suddenly, reaching out to grab Ms. Pillsbury's hand with her free one. "Don't tell any of them. I don't want them to know. If you do I'll never forgive you."

As threats went, it wasn't a good one. Not for a school counselor. But the redheads wide-green eyes were solemn as she nodded. If there was anyone (aside from Kurt) who understood what it felt like to be ridiculed and alone, it was Ms. Pillsbury.

"Of course, Rachel. But you let me know if you need anything. And I'll be here every day to check on you and make sure you're eating, and sleeping, and getting showers, and really should let me give you a ride home so you can get some clothes and toiletries."

Rachel shook her head. "Maybe tomorrow. Right now I need to be here."

* * *

Kurt Hummel was at Starbucks with Blaine when he found out about the car accident. The gay community in Lima, Ohio was particularly small, so anything that happened traveled quickly. The fact that the two most prominent gay men in town were in a car accident this afternoon, one rumored dead and the other unknown, was the sort of news that rocked through the gay community, leaving it rattled and vaguely suspicious.

Russell Fabray had been the driver to ram into the side of their car at ninety miles an hour. He died on impact, but whether he was sober or not was in question. Still, everyone knew his hatred of gays couldn't be a coincidence.

Only secondarily did it register that these were Rachel's dads. So, ok, he knew her dads were gay. And he knew Berry was her last name. But the guys from school who came up to tell him and Blaine didn't mention Rachel, which wouldn't have made a difference if his new life at Dalton wasn't so displaced from his old one, and they made such a big deal about what a loss it was to the community that he didn't think to connect the names Hiram and Leroy Berry with Rachel. Not at first.

He remembered her smile from the audience during their performance at Sectionals, and knew he had to get to the hospital.

Blaine offered him a ride as soon as he spoke up, and so they sat in silence as the older boy drove them through the streets of Lima. Kurt could tell Blaine wanted to ask him about his sudden need to be at the hospital, but he couldn't explain that no matter what school he went to, McKinley High's Glee Club would always be a special place for him. And Rachel had helped him out, with his solo audition, with the bullying, and with his dad when he had his heart attack.

Kurt didn't even stop to question whether or not the rest of the Glee Club would be present. Of course they would. They'll all rallied around him—as much as it might have annoyed him at times—when he needed them; they were good at that. Though they probably had no idea it was Quinn's father who'd hit the Berrys, and who was just as dead as Leroy. That was not news he wanted responsibility for breaking.

And he thought their road to Regionals last year had been tough. But they'd get through it. Glee Club would be there to help both girls deal with their loss, and even though he was a Warbler now (the Warblers, honestly. And he'd thought New Directions was a bad name), he'd be there too.

So as he walked through the hospital corridors, Blaine holding his trembling hand (he kept picturing his dad hooked up to machines in that bed, still), he couldn't hide the surprise as he got to Hiram Berry's room to find it empty save the small, dark haired girl. She was sitting in a chair at his bedside, bent double with her head resting on the mattress beside her father's unmoving hand.

He expected to see Finn walking up with cups of tea (Rachel hadn't let him drink coffee since they started dating). Instead, he stood there and watched the girl's shoulders shake—silently crying. Ironic that someone so loud in everything else would be so quiet in her sorrow.

"What's she whispering?" Blaine asked, leaning over so Kurt could hear without disturbing the tableau in front of them.

"She's whispering?" He hadn't noticed. But he took a step closer, standing in the doorway of the room, and a vague murmur caught his ear.

It wasn't singing. Rachel was talking, mouthing words on pitch under her breath. Every so often, a word would crack or shatter on her tongue but she kept going. She repeated over and over, "Don't go, please stay. Don't go, please stay. Please, please stay."

Something was very wrong with Glee Club if Rachel was sitting her by herself when her dad was dead and the other in a coma. Something was about to be wrong with Finn if he didn't have a very, very good reason for not being here with her. He was going to find the fist of a pissed off step-brother in his face.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and remember to review!


	2. when we know home is near

No matter how loud he turned up the music, it still didn't drown out the sound of her voice, admitting to making out with Puck. _Puck_, of all people. She knew what that would do to him. She had to have known.

Why did they always go to Puck?

He wasn't going to think about her tonight. There was football, and Halo, and Regionals, and—. But today had been the first rehearsal where she wasn't there, and though the awkwardness between the two of them hadn't been present, there had been something missing. Her voice. And he hated that already his mind went back to her.

How could she have done that to him? Cheated on him? How could she have thought they'd cancel each other out? What he'd done was last year! She'd been with Jesse, supposedly losing her virginity to him, and he just wanted to not be left behind. To hurt her back for hurting him. She had no right to be angry at him. Hurt, he could understand. He expected that. He knew she'd wanted them to be each other's firsts.

He wanted that too. But he couldn't change the past and damn it, how could she let someone like Santana mess them up so badly? If he wanted someone like Santana, he'd have been dating her. He didn't want Santana. He wanted Rachel fucking Berry and her fucking leg-warmers, her animal sweaters and her socks. Those fucking knee-high socks and flippy skirts that made him want to rip off her top, spread her across the choir room floor, and fuck her into the linoleum with her skirt bunched about her waist and her sock-clad legs wrapped around his thighs. He wondered if when she came, her cries had the same beautiful tone as her singing.

He wanted to know. He really, really wanted to be the only one who knew.

_Fuck_.

Running his hands through his hair, he gripped the strands at the roots and pulled, yanking until his skull screamed with pain. It didn't help. He jerked to his feet, brought his arms forward, and slammed his fists, knuckle-first, into the wall. His mom would yell at him later but he just didn't care. And he didn't care that now his hands ached as bad as his balls. And neither one of them came anywhere near to hurting as badly as his heart.

God, he was such a fucking girl, but he'd thought she was it. That they were it. They'd be the couple that made it through everything, through college and life and marriage and children and all that other stuff people wrote books and songs about.

And just because it was completely out of character for her to leave her bookbag at school and miss Glee practice didn't mean he was going to go running over to her house and demand to know what was going on. He didn't want to know.

He didn't. Besides, Santana was probably right. It was another one of Rachel's storm outs meant to get attention. He loved her, he really did, even her wacky clothes and her need to always be the star and the way she always took stuff just a little too far. They were what made her Rachel. But she was a drama queen in every sense of the word. And sometimes, mostly when he was pissed at her, it got old.

He was debating heading out for a jog to take his mind off things when his mom called up the stairs "Finn, Kurt, time for dinner!"

When he shut off the music and closed his bedroom door, he noticed Kurt wasn't in his room. It wouldn't have been odd except when he got downstairs, his step-brother wasn't there either.

"Hey Mom, Kurt wasn't in his room," he said. She probably forgot that Kurt had gone out with that Blaine kid or something.

She frowned and he got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. "Are you sure? He swore he'd be home by dinner. I know his friend Blaine had to be somewhere at 5:30. Will you give him a call, Finn, to see where he is?"

Digging the phone out from his pocket, he shrugged and put it up to his ear, hitting speed dial number 5. It rang several times before Kurt finally picked up.

"Hello?"

* * *

"Is that the Aaron Neville song?" he asked, stepping into the room. Any more of this and he'd start crying too. Red, swollen eyes was not the way to confront his step-brother.

A sob escaped Rachel as he startled her, but she quickly clamped back down on them, pressing her face deeper into the mattress. Her arms came up around her middle, wrapping around her waist as best they could. Kurt fancied he could see her breaking into pieces, far too many for her two small hands to catch on their own.

He moved forward, perching on the arm of her chair and winding his arms around her, overlapping her own arms. Burying his face in her hair, he pressed her tight against him, as hard as his arms could manage, somehow knowing that if he didn't hold her together now, there wouldn't be anything left of their Rachel.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel. I'm so sorry. No one should have to go through this. But we'll be here to help you, ok? We got your back," he whispered into her ear, cursing his step-brother every time her body shook. Comforting her wasn't his job; he was the snarky rival-turned-friend. Where in the hell was Finn? And where the hell were everyone else? Sure, they talked trash about her, but it wasn't supposed to be serious. It didn't mean she wasn't one of them. And they sure as hell needed her if they wanted to win Nationals.

"How did you find out?" she croaked, sounding even more hoarse than when she'd had laryngitis and tried to sing. "Did Ms. Pillsbury tell you? I asked her not too!"

"Ms. Pillsbury?" he asked, mostly to himself because Rachel was pulling away, drawing her legs up on the chair and curling into herself further. He'd worry about finding his way through the mental passageways of Rachel's reasoning later. "No, Rachel, some of the guys at school heard about it. Your dads were highly respected in the gay community here." He laughed without humor. "There aren't very many of us so when something happens we all know."

Something in his speech set her off, and while he watched, panicking, her breaths sped up until they were on top of each other and she fell into a pattern of half-breathing, half-sobbing. He was not equipped to handle Rachel Berry in this state.

"Rachel," he said, reaching forward to grab her arms and hopefully her attention. If he didn't calm her down, she'd probably faint. "Where is Finn? Where's the rest of Glee? Did you not tell them what happened?"

"They don't give a damn about me," she said, biting each word between deep, heavy breaths. It was a night for firsts, because it was the only time he'd ever heard her voice so bitter. Like she'd channeled Santana or Quinn, during the height of her pregnancy. "Finn isn't here because he isn't my boyfriend. And apparently all of you only pretend to like me because I'm a horrible person that no one can stand to be around. I don't want pity friends, so I didn't tell them. It's none of their business. None of you ever cared about my life outside of Glee before. Why should that change now? Because something bad happened? Well guess what, bad things happen all the time and no one gave a damn before."

"Whoa, Rachel," he honestly had no idea what to say. He didn't like being speechless, but he'd never considered that she'd been bothered by their words, or that she even cared what they thought. All words he'd ever said to her in anger, frustration, and—to his shame—jealousy ran through his head. He hadn't meant for her to take it seriously. Okay, so sometimes he had, but that didn't mean he didn't like her. Whatever had happened to Glee in the past month and a half since he'd been gone must've been bad.

"Rachel, I—we—never meant for you to take all that so seriously. Of course we like you. Yeah, you can be obnoxious, but so can I! You're a diva, but every single one of us is. Wherever you got this impression—"

Her brows furrowed. "Impression. You mean Santana's word-for-word statement that no one likes me? And the silence from everyone else, including my _boyfriend, _who didn't bother to say anything in my defense? You mean the so-called friends who didn't tell me that my boyfriend had sex with Santana last year, when everyone knew, and they _knew_ that I didn't know?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, sinking back on his heels. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I hated you, but I don't. I may find you annoying, a _lot_, but you're my friend, Rachel. I'm sure the others feel the same, and I _know_ Finn loves you. I honestly thought you knew about Santana, and if you'd just give him a chance, I know he'd explain that it really meant nothing. He was jealous of you and Jesse, and he wanted to get back at you, and I know that was a stupid guy thing of him to do. But you have got to let go of your pride and forgive him. Because you need him right now more than ever."

She raised her eyes from where they'd been fixed on the floor. "I did forgive him," she said, so quietly he had to lean closer to hear, "It's Finn that can't forgive me."

He didn't like the sudden weight in his stomach. Things just couldn't ever be easy, could they?

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I made out with Puck."

He waited.

"The week before Sectionals, Finn and I weren't really talking. Santana had told me about their-about their night together and he never said it meant nothing. He said she was super hot, and he was checking her out in the halls, and I remembered all the times he'd laughed when she insulted me and I just wanted him to hurt like I did. I just wanted him to understand how I felt because he kept getting mad at me for being upset! He didn't seem to understand why it had hurt me or why it mattered that it was Santana, of all the girls at school, he had to chose the one who has been the most cruel to me." She broke into tears again and buried her face in her hands. "It's all my fault! I shouldn't have turned to Puck but I wasn't thinking and I just—it had happened before I even knew what I was doing. And now it's over, I've ruined everything with Finn and he was all I had. Finn and my dads. And now they're all gone."

The last few words were swallowed by her cries, growing louder and gasping for air as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to disappear. "It hurts so bad, Kurt. They're gone. My daddy's gone and now my dad, and I don't know what to do. And it _hurts_."

By now Blaine had entered the room and shut the door behind him, coming over to stand beside Rachel. The older boy put his hand on Rachel's back, rubbing slow circles and then kneeling at her side. "Hey, I know you don't really know me, but you're not alone, ok? Kurt and I are here for you if you need us. You're not alone," he whispered, causing Kurt's heart to flutter inappropriately given the circumstances. Still, Kurt couldn't help but be proud that this boy, with his amazing voice and easy leadership and kind heart, might be interested in him. To know that he could get along with his friends—well, that just made it even better.

"He's right, Rachel. We—" He wasn't sure what else he could possibly say, but he was going to say it anyway, if only to take that pain off of her face. But his phone rang, the opening chords of Losing My Religion sounding in the room, cutting him off.

Finn's ringtone.

He met Rachel's eyes as he answered it. "Hello?"

"Hi Finn." Rachel's eyes fell closed at the sound of his name, her head falling to rest on her knees. "Tell Carole I'm sorry about missing dinner, but something important came up. I probably won't be home til late."

A pause, as Kurt listened and tried not to let on that there were tears in his eyes and throat. He wasn't about to let Finn know what was going on until he knew more about the situation in Glee with Rachel. She had enough to deal with right now, to let any member of Glee know about her dads was to invite them all—and the drama they brought—to the hospital when that was the last thing Rachel needed.

"Finn, why didn't you tell me you'd broken up with Rachel a month ago?" Kurt demanded, cutting off his step-brother's lecture about making his mom worry. There was silence from Finn until he dismissed the question as none of his business. And what, Finn wanted to know, did that have to do with anything?

"It has to do with everything!" Kurt hollered into the phone. He got to his feet, moving out into the hall to continue before he lost it right there in front of Rachel. "God knows you're not the most sensitive guy in the world, Finn, but did it ever occur to you that maybe Rachel wouldn't have turned to Puck if you'd paid the least bit of attention to her feelings? Where were you when Santana was rubbing her face in your little tryst? She was your girlfriend! Why weren't you reassuring her, instead of checking out Santana in the hall and—God!—_telling_ her Santana was _super hot_? And yeah, she hurt you when she made out with Puck, which is all kinds of wrong, but did you ever think that maybe that's exactly how she felt about you and Santana? I mean, Santana? Of all the girls in Glee, in the entire school! You should know how much Santana has insulted her and humiliated her over the years, yet you get mad at her for caring that the guy who claimed to love her—and yes, you were claiming that even when you were with Santana so don't use the excuse that you weren't together then! You were the guy who claimed to _love_ her and you'd still have sex with not only the biggest slut in school, but Rachel Berry's own personal tormentor? Then you lied about it, even when she told you the truth about her own relationship with Jesse!"

A nurse came up to him and asked him to quiet down, but he shook her off. Curling his lip in distain he hoped came across in his voice, Kurt continued, "God, Finn. You are such a dumbass! Your girlfriend needed your reassurances that _she_ was the one you loved and wanted to be with, that _she_ was super hot, and that Santana meant nothing and anything she said to the contrary was absolute bullshit! But no, you leave her alone and reinforce her fears and humiliate her further in front of the entire Glee Club! No wonder she cheated with Puck! She just wanted to feel like someone desired her more than Santana, and you certainly weren't the one trying to prove it to her! And apparently, _he's_ the only one willing to stand up and acknowledge that he might actually like her as a person, because heaven forbid anyone publically acknowledge Rachel as a friend! It's a really good thing you're not here right now because I swear to God, I would kick your ass, football player or not. You don't deserve her. She stuck by you when you were an absolute _prick_ last year but she makes a mistake because she's hurt and you don't even hear her out or bother to think of why she felt the need to act that way in the first place!"

"Hey, that's not fair, Kurt! I didn't _cheat_ on her, and we weren't together when the whole thing happened with Santana. I tried to reassure her but she wouldn't listen!—"

"Maybe you didn't cheat on her but you cheated on Quinn with her and then dropped her at every opportunity, making sure she knew that you only liked her as long as she didn't negatively influence your precious reputation!" He was getting hoarse from shouting, but he couldn't stop. It was like a boulder barreling down a hill; it just kept picking up speed. "Did you ever think how that might have made her feel? Did you ever think that the people who talk the loudest about their talents are the people who are the most insecure? Your definition of reassurance is letting her know you think Santana is _super hot_? You know what? Fuck you, Finn. _Fuck you_."

He hung up. It wasn't as satisfying to do on an iPhone as it would be with a flip phone, where he could slam it closed. He'd lost his temper, and he hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to get into a fight with Finn or curse at him. Honestly, he respected his step-brother, he really did. Finn was a good guy. Sure he made mistakes but he tried to be a good guy, and that counted.

But Kurt had never, ever seen Rachel so devastated. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone so lost, and for it to be Rachel, steady, confident, determined Rachel, well, that scared him. It terrified him. He'd always known she was short—how could he not—but she'd always been so big in presence, so loud and demanding of attention. To see her so curled into herself, trembling from head to toe and unable to catch her breath between sobs—for the first time, he realized how small she really was.

They were all only sixteen.

* * *

Finn took the phone from his ear, mentally and physically reeling.

That came out of nowhere. He'd managed not to talk about the Rachel situation with his step-brother so far, but he hadn't expected the guy to react like _that_. How did he even find out? Someone from Glee, obviously. But he couldn't imagine any of the other Glee kids telling the story in Rachel's favor, so where in the world Kurt got so pissed was completely beyond him. Unless he was talking with Rachel, but why would he? Kurt and Rachel had never gotten along well. Everyone knew that. They clashed.

His mother was staring at him in concern from across the kitchen and the usual nausea he felt when Puck and Rachel were mentioned together in any sort of relation bubbled up in his stomach around the smell of his mother's casserole, and all he wanted to do was go hid in a closet until this shitty feeling in his chest was long gone.

"Kurt won't be home for dinner," was all he managed to say.

His mom nodded her head, wide-eyed. "Yeah, I got that much. Finn, what's going on?"

He shook his head. "I can't do this right now, Mom. I can't-I can't do this. I'm going for a walk." Grabbing his coat but not taking the time to put it on, he stormed out. He'd learned from the best, after all.

He wanted to hunt Kurt down and find out what the hell was going on. And more than a little of him wanted to find Rachel, have it out with her too. Ask her why the hell she'd hurt him like this. And why the hell with Puck.

Okay, so maybe Kurt had a point. Santana was a bitch to Rachel, and maybe that's how she'd felt, why she'd been so stuck on the who rather than the what. It didn't help him any. He still hurt. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Puck and Rachel pressed together on her bed haunted him. All he could think was that if they were something so special, how could Rachel give up on him so easily?

What was it about Sectionals that spelled doom for all his relationships?

He'd been so _pissed_. At Quinn for cheating on him and trying to pass the baby off as his, at Puck for sleeping with his girlfriend, at the Glee Club for _knowing _it wasn't his child, knowing Quinn had cheated on him and done nothing. What the hell kind of friends let someone lie to him about something so important?

Except Rachel. She'd told him the truth, for her own reasons, sure, but at least she'd had the guts to tell him.

Just like that it hit him. Kind of like Kurt had dropped a ton of rocks on his head and only now that the shock was wearing off did he start to feel the pain.

Was that how Rachel felt? Betrayed that her friends would keep a secret from her that they knew would upset her? Of course, he hadn't cheated on her with Santana, that had all happened before they were together. Still, no one mentioned it around her because they all knew it would upset her, whether or not she had the right to be upset. He didn't think she did, but then again, he'd been upset at her for dating Jesse (not because Jesse was a rival, but because he wasn't _him_) and he'd wanted to go postal on the douchebag for pressuring her to sleep with him (even though he really had no right) and he'd wanted—

He'd wanted to make Rachel hurt like he had. And so he'd slept with Santana, and it had become one of those circle things Rachel talked about that only got worse and worse and kept repeating. A vicious cycle, that was it. A vicious cycle where he hurt her, and she got hurt, and wanted to hurt him, so she had, and now—

Now they were done.

She was somewhere complaining to Kurt, while he walked through his neighborhood in the freezing cold with his jacket over his arm and not on him because he couldn't muster the energy. Or the will.

God, it sucked that what he wanted more than anything right now was Rachel.

* * *

**Just a few notes.**

I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews, I really don't know how people write without feedback. It's like crack, seriously. And also, in case you can't tell, Rachel is my favorite character. I really relate to her, probably more than I should all things considered. But I do think that she's stuck in a rut. She's not going to acknowledge how badly all this stuff people say and do to or about her hurts unless something changes to make her break. Because she's too strong to just start whining about it and she's too inured in her ways to realize maybe something's wrong with her self-esteem that she feels the need to constantly put herself out their for praise of the one thing she thinks she's good at. And a girl with real self-confidence would be able to accept that her boyfriend slept with another girl before they were even together. It would hurt, but she wouldn't need to make out with another guy to make herself feel better. And the fact that she compares herself to Santana says it all. Rachel, to me, is the way she is because she's got such low self-esteem and I don't even think she realizes it for what it is. And the fact that everyone calls her names and picks on her doesn't help, it just makes it harder for her to see that that's not how things should be.

So yes. I had to push Rachel to her breaking point in this story in order for the rest of Glee to realize how much she actually hurts about the things they say (or don't say).

With regards to Finn's POV: I do understand where he's coming from and I get he was hurt. Also, if some of you thought some of his more graphic thoughts were OOC, well, I just wanna say that he's a teenaged guy. A horny teenaged guy as we've seen evidence of on the show.

Thanks for reading, and please review!


	3. understand we'll go hand in hand

Please note the rating, folks.

_

* * *

_

_Don't go, please stay_

_Don't go, please stay_

_If I got on my knees, and I pleaded with you_

_Not to go but to stay in my home_

_Would you walk out the door_

_like you did once before_

_But this time be different_

_and please stay_

_Don't go, please stay_

_Don't go_

_If I call our your name like a prayer_

_Would you leave me alone with my tears_

_Knowing I need you so_

_Would you still turn and go?_

_But this time be different_

_in someway_

_Don't go, please stay_

_Don't go, please stay_

_You took me away from the rest of the world_

_when you taught me to love you like this_

_Now I hang by a thread in the canyon of doom_

_But I still can be saved by your kiss_

_If I call our your name like a prayer_

_Would you leave me alone with my tears_

_Knowing I need you so_

_Would you still turn and go?_

_But this time be different_

_and please stay_

_Don't go, please stay_

_Don't go, please stay_

_Don't go, please stay_

Rachel stood beside her dad's bedside, singing softly to him alone even though no part of her ever wanted to sing again. Maybe she was addicted, and the only way for her to truly express her emotions anymore was through song. But she remembered all the times she and her dads had listened to this song, every time she'd sing it as they were walking out the door for work or they'd sing it as they dropped her off at kindergarten.

They'd loved Aaron Neville. One of the first songs she'd ever learned had been an Aaron Neville song, her dad's favorite, "Don't Know Much." (She'd spent all last summer imagining how it would sound in her and Finn's voices. They'd never gotten to sing it, and now they never would.) It wasn't the cool music kids her age listened to, but she'd always related more to her dads' music tastes than her peers.

She missed them already.

So much.

They'd never get to walk her down the isle (they'd always argued over which one got to, and she had finally settled it by saying they both could) and they'd never get to see her star on Broadway, meeting her afterwards with roses like they'd always promised.

She was being silly. Her dad wasn't gone yet, he might still pull through. But he'd never really be the same again, she knew. Her parents were a team, a couple, and to think of one without the other—

It was impossible.

And life as she knew it was over.

But there was something therapeutic about singing. She didn't feel any better—she wasn't sure she'd ever feel any better—but at least the music calmed her down. She didn't think she'd drown in her own tears anymore, although how long that lasted was anyone's guess. If she just kept singing, then she'd keep breathing. That was pretty much all she could manage right now.

It took everything she had inside of her to not pick up the phone and call Finn. She wanted to believe he'd come and hold her if she called, but finding out for good one way or another terrified her too much to try. Her fingers had dialed his number (hitting speed dial 2 was too easy so she drew it out by dialing each number, hoping with each one that something would change and she wouldn't need him anymore) at least three dozen times before she'd chickened out.

She hadn't expected to see Kurt, and to have him be so kind to her. He pitied her, and they all would when they found out. Going to school and having everyone look at her with pity, it was worse than scorn and disdain. At least that was honest.

God, how was she ever going to go back to Glee? Smile, sing, dance, perform knowing that her dads weren't around to watch anymore. And how could she go home to that house, where everything in it was _theirs_, and she was as alone at home as she was elsewhere?

She just wasn't. She'd stay at the hospital until her dad woke up. There was nowhere else for her to go.

From the other side of the open door, she heard the murmurs of Kurt and Blaine's conversation taper off. It was getting really late; Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Hummel would be worried. She appreciated Kurt not telling Finn what was going on, though she missed most of their conversation, lost in her own head somewhere. All she wanted to do was forget the past twenty-four hours, the past month. Push it away as far as it would go until none of this had happened and she was just Rachel again, Rachel with two dads and a wonderful voice but not much else. Rachel who annoyed everyone and put tape over her mouth to protest losing her solo and made out with the complete wrong guy because he, at least, didn't lie to her about his intentions.

Anything was better than this Rachel. Only the slight hum she forced out through her lips kept her from curling in a ball in the corner of the room and waiting for everything in the world to disappear.

"Rachel?" Kurt's voice sounded tentatively from the doorway. She didn't turn around. "It's almost 11. Blaine has to get home and he's my ride."

"Ok," she said, the sudden lack of a tune in the air jarring to her ears as her humming ended. "Thanks for coming by, Kurt."

She sniffed and added, "I really appreciate it."

"I'm not leaving you alone here, Rachel," he stepped in the room to stand beside her. Putting a hand on her shoulder in support.

"You can't stay here overnight," she protested. He had a family to get home to. And hospitals weren't good places to get a good night's rest.

He smiled a little, putting another hand on her other shoulder to turn her to face him. "I'm not."

Her brow furrowed over glazed eyes. "Then what—"

"And neither are you. You're coming home with me."

"No, Kurt, I can't—"

"We don't have to let anyone else know you're there. I'll sneak you into my room and we'll come back here first thing in the morning, ok? But you're not staying here alone. Trust me," he said with a little laugh, "I'll carry you out of here if I have to. You're so small even I could manage it. And Blaine would totally help."

She shook her head, unable to speak because the tears had somehow moved from her eyes to her throat. It should've made her upset to be given no choice, but somehow, that was what proved to her that she and Kurt might finally, actually be friends. He wasn't insisting out of duty or courtesy; he genuinely worried about her. Saying thank you, saying how much it meant that he cared, seemed inadequate, but even those few words wouldn't move passed the lump in her throat. Whether it was tears, or mucus, or even her heart—it wasn't going anywhere no matter how many times she swallowed against it.

There were tears in his eyes too, so maybe he knew without her having to say anything.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. Again.

No surprise there.

He hadn't slept a full night since Santana made her announcement in Glee, when his life had fallen apart. And he was a growing guy, he needed sleep. Otherwise, he was just a big, dumb zombie. Worse, lately he'd been a big, dumb, _cranky_ zombie. Not that anyone could really blame him. Still, how did people manage shit like this? Every time he closed his eyes, _she_ was there, sometimes alone, sometimes with Puck, and always in bed. Always naked and flushed and writhing under the sheets; sweet, soft little moans parting her pouted, swollen lips.

God, he loved those lips. And that voice. Sure, she was an amazing singer, probably the best he'd ever heard. But her voice could do so much besides singing, and his absolute favorite was that tiny sound she made (half a moan, half a grunt—but like a really cute, lady-like grunt that was kind of like an _'uuhhn' _and he totally knew it meant she wanted more) when he found that spot behind her ear or when she let him slip his hands under her shirt. If he got a recording of that sound, he'd never need Skinemax again. One small '_uuhhn'_ from Rachel Berry and he was creaming his pants alarmingly quickly, mailman or no.

Damn it. It probably wasn't healthy to be so fixated on one person, particularly not someone who'd cheated on him. Sure, it had taken him a few days to get over Quinn, but nothing like this. He had only tended to think of the blonde when faced with her. She certainly never kept him from sleeping. Or eating. Or lusting after Rachel.

He _sucked._ What kind of guy still wanted the girl who cheated on him? Was he one of those people who got off on getting hurt? He forgot the word—Rachel would know it. (Misogynist? No, that was the thing where you didn't like girls—not in the homo way but in the really hating girls kind of way—, which definitely didn't apply to him.) Well, he didn't think he was because he _hated_ feeling like this.

From across the hall, he could hear Kurt moving about in his room. Looking at the clock, he saw it was midnight and wanted to go over demanding to know where he'd been so late. Find out what he'd been doing with Rachel (but _not_ if she was okay. He didn't care.

He _didn't_.

Okay, maybe a little. But only because he wasn't heartless.)

But he couldn't go to his step-brother's room still half-hard from thinking about Rachel and bed and naked in the same sentence. He'd ask tomorrow.

And maybe he'd give more thought to the things Kurt had said. He could admit, at least, that he hadn't dealt with the Santana thing well. But come on, he was a dude. He wasn't supposed to say the sex had meant nothing or been bad or whatever. He was supposed to like sex, no matter who it was with, and especially if it was with one of the hottest cheerleaders in school. The fact that he'd bawled like a little baby afterward, because it hadn't been Rachel and because he felt dirty and cheap and used—he couldn't tell anyone that. Especially not when he wanted Rachel to love him. He was such a fucking pansy. No wonder they all cheated on him.

There was a creak as his bedroom door popped open.

Finn sat up in bed. "Kurt?" he whispered. He hoped it wasn't his step-brother sneaking into his room in the middle of the night. He liked the guy, he really did, but that would just be all kinds of awkward. And more drama in his life was not something he needed.

No one answered, but a figure stepped into the room and shut the door. It definitely wasn't a guy. Short, with long dark hair and—from what little he could see in the dark—_really_ nice boobs. In fact, if he hadn't known it was impossible, he'd think it was Rachel.

She stood at the foot of his bed, gazing at him a moment before leaning over—dear _God_, was she not wearing a bra?—and gently, slowly, placing first one knee than the other on the mattress.

Yup, it was definitely Rachel. He may have only seem them once, but he spent enough time studying their shape that he'd recognize those boobs anywhere.

He gulped. "Rachel?"

She crawled closer to him, on all fours, straddling his legs with her own, her hands coming to rest on either side of his hips.

This had to be a dream.

She licked her lips, nibbling on the corner of the bottom one and he covered the front of his boxers with his hands, hoping she wouldn't notice that he was now completely, totally, painfully hard.

It was definitely a dream, and it was already the best dream ever.

"Shhhh," she whispered, putting one finger up to her plump lips for silence, and he really, really wanted to be that finger.

Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't going to protest, she sat back, resting on the tops of his thighs. The oversized t-shirt she wore that had come down to her knees was now bunched up at her lap, revealing the long, white expanse of her thighs, so small next to his. The shirt seemed really familiar (was that his? he'd always imagined her in one of his shirts—even the smallest would dwarf her), but he didn't dwell on it, distracted by the knowledge that underneath the shirt she wasn't wearing anything but panties. Now that he thought about it, he wanted to know what they looked like too. They had to be pink or white or something typically Rachel.

Before he could ask, she reached over and moved his hands from his lap, setting them back at his side as she scooted herself further up so her crotch brushed just barely against the tented sheets that he was now absolutely certain she'd noticed.

He was sleep deprived, and not the most intelligent guy in the world, and pretty sure he was having the best wet dream of his life, but even he got the idea when she tugged his hands up to the edge of her shirt. Not needing to be told twice (or risk pissing her off before the best part), he gripped the hem and pulled upward, his jaw slackening the farther up she allowed it to go. When it got to her head, he pulled it up and over, and suddenly, Rachel Berry was sitting on his lap in nothing but a pair of small, white cotton panties.

Her breasts were perfect. Round and full, sloping down from her chest and—curvy, round, plump, smooth pale skin. And it was chilly in his room so her nipples were peaked to rosy buds that reached out to him and begged for his attention. He wanted to hold them, see what they looked like framed by his enormous hands, move them and mold them and then taste them—

She leaned down, pressing those warm, round, full breasts against his bare chest, and kissing him exactly as he remembered. She tasted like Rachel and mint toothpaste and the warmth of her pushed down on his erection—he nearly lost it right there but somehow he held back. His hands were on her breasts, cupping them and shaping them and brushing her nipples with his thumbs (that was what you did with boobs, right?), tweaking until she was wiggling against him and her breathy moans transferred from her lips to his.

Suddenly, her hands were on his stomach, fingertips tracing the edge of his boxers, dragging across the curve of his hip bone and sliding ever so slightly under the elastic band to brush the sensitive hairs leading down to where he really, really wanted her. He lifted his hips, grinding against the tiny triangle of her panties. Her lips broke from his, a soft cry escaping her, and he reared up, rolling her under him until every part of her was covered by him, pressed into the bed. Her legs fell open and he fit between them, exactly like he'd been made for this moment, the rigid length of his cock sliding along the warmth of her center.

She skimmed her hands along his back, into his boxers to cup his ass, holding him closer while the other tugged at the waistband, yanking down one side then the other until they were tangled around his knees. He forgot to kick them off when the bare skin of his erection met the warm, damp spot on her panties and the only thing he would think was that a thin piece of cotton separated him from being inside her. That warm, wet heat would be wrapped around him and her hips bucked up against his as if mirroring his thoughts.

"Oh, god, Rachel," he mumbled into the skin of her throat, taking a piece just between her shoulder and neck into his mouth, dragging his teeth across it, then his tongue, holding it and sucking as she wriggled and twisted beneath him. "Rachel," he breathed, her blunted nails trailing up his back. He rolled one of her nipples between his fingers, thrusting his hips into her at the same time and was rewarded with one of her magical '_uuhhn_' sounds. He groaned again, syllables that resembled her name, and lifted himself off her before he exploded.

He hovered above her, gazing down at the blissful, needy glaze in her eyes, taking in the flushed cheeks and the swollen lips, exactly as he'd always dreamed. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but he couldn't take the time to wonder why when she was warm and willing beneath him.

Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he slid backwards on the mattress, dropping the occasional kiss on her throat, then her chest, then her stomach as he made his way down. He placed on hand on each of her inner thighs, nudging them apart. Making sure she was watching, he knelt down and placed a kiss right on the top of her mound, covered only by her underwear. Her breath was racing and her eyes wide, and he really, really hoped he didn't screw this up because he had no idea what he was doing. He'd seen some porn on Skinemax (and some that Puck had emailed him but he didn't think that was very realistic—or even possible) and he knew the gist of what to do, but this, here, now, was so much scarier.

But he was totally willing to learn, as long as he got to hear her come and see what she looked like and have her sprawled beneath him on his bed.

He'd imagined this a hundred thousand times, but actually sliding his hands down her hips, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and drawing them down inch by inch with her watching him and him watching her watching him—he slammed his eyes shut, picturing the mailman smashing into his car, hearing his mom scream.

It barely calmed him, but enough to move on without finishing right then.

There was a small patch of dark, curly hair, neatly trimmed at the edges, leading down to the 'v' of her legs. He took his time looking, taking one finger and delicately tracing the outer lips, trying to memorize every detail so he wouldn't ever forget this moment. He could hear her breathing increase, her hands flutter over his head as if unsure where to put them. He wanted to be patient and draw it out, taking his time to learn every inch but he'd have to do it later because he seriously couldn't wait anymore.

He crawled back up to meet her face to face, pressing a kiss to her lips. Her fingers knotted in his hair, holding him in place against her.

A strange hitching in her breath caught his attention, but her grip on him was firm, her legs wound around his waist and, somehow, the tip of him was sliding inside of her.

Tight, hot, slick, her shuddering breaths on his lips—it was the best feeling in the world, and he abruptly knew he wasn't dreaming. Rachel was laying beneath him at 1:30 in the morning, naked and panting and glistening with a sweat he hadn't even realized they'd worked up, grasping his hair and cuddling his face in her shoulder. (He'd been wrong before; there was no way Jesus was in a grilled cheese. He was here, right here, in what he felt for Rachel and in that perfect little freckle just at the hollow of her throat. Maybe there was something to this religion thing, and God, wasn't that sacrimonious-sacreligion-sacrisomething? sacrilegious?)

"Rachel?" he questioned, feeling the effort it took to get that single word out when all he really wanted (and he really, really wanted it) was to bury himself inside of her until they both forgot who they were and what they were supposed to be doing. He couldn't even remember what they'd been fighting about or why he'd ever thought he could live without her. How she'd gotten into his room, why, none of it mattered. Not when she was laying soft kisses on his hair, her hands stroking the length of his back and her hips lifting to bring him deeper inside. He seriously doubted his ability to ever pull back out.

"Please, Finn," she whispered, her first words of the night. "Please."

He wasn't going to last long. Not with her breathing like that, and feeling like heaven and every so often something inside of her _clenched_ and, God, he hadn't thought anything in the world could be this good.

Reaching one hand between them, down to where they were joined, he rubbed his fingers in a gentle circle. It was an awkward position, his arm trapped between them, but Rachel's eyes fell closed and her body arched into his, which he liked. He started moving in and out, thrusting slowly to keep his cool. Her breaths had taken on a pitch, and if he could just get her to come with him, his life would be complete. Because damn, he liked that sound she made; it was even better than when she belted out a ballad (or dedicated some sappy love song to him that he'd never admit brought tears to his eyes).

Her mouth latched on to that spot at the base of his ear, where his jaw met his neck, and the feeling that spiraled through him as she tugged the skin between her teeth flared too quickly for the mailman to rescue him. His hips jerked once, twice, three times, body tensed and trembling, as he spilled his seed deep inside of her. The world seemed to pause as he rode it out, everything in him tingling like he'd never know was possible. He'd gotten really good at taking care of his own needs, but nothing had ever come close to this. Her hips were still rotating under his, the warm wetness still cradling him as he resumed his breathing.

His hand had stopped its rubbing as he came, but as soon as anything resembling brain function returned, he doubled his efforts, dipping his head to trace his tongue around the shell of her ear. Within moments, she was writhing in his arms, every naked part of her rubbing against him. A delicate mewling escaped her lips as she shivered, arching up off the bed.

It was by far the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He collapsed on top of her with a groan, slipping his arms between her and the mattress to hold her close. He had no idea what she was doing there, why she'd come, what all this meant, where they'd go from there, why she clung to him as if the world was ending, or how in the hell they'd get her out in the morning without alerting his mom. And he didn't care.

Because Rachel was in his arms again and he loved her.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, burying his nose in the smell of her and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Thank you guys so much for the reviews. They're what help me get these chapters done and out! I'm like Rachel; I need [feedback] to live. I appreciate each and every one of your comments, rants, what-have-you!

So yes, I wrote that scene in Finn's POV for several very specific reasons. See if you can figure it out. ;)

I know I said this would be three parts, but it grew. So it will be about 5 parts now. So, somewhere around halfway done.

My theory on why Rachel wouldn't have a hymen anymore: she's done ballet for _years_. All sorts of strenuous dance and gymnastics can be known to solve this problem for girls. I know it's an idea that gets overdone but it really does happen.

Thanks for reading, and please remember to review before you head out!


	4. but we'll walk alone in fear

She laid awake for a long time.

That was not what she'd planned when she'd told Kurt she wanted to talk to Finn. Whether or not she'd planned to actually open up to him, she hadn't known then and she didn't know now but her intentions had been purely—well, pure.

She hadn't wanted to spend the night at the Hudson-Hummel household, not under the same roof as Finn, not across the hall from the one person left in the world (conscious) who could comfort her but wouldn't because he hated her now, just like everyone else. But she was nothing if not a little bit selfish; this had been one of those times when she was a lot selfish. She knew she'd regret it in the morning, when she wasn't struggling to keep her eyes open against the burn of too many tears shed and not enough sleep.

She'd thought, though, that maybe if she got just one hug, spent just a few minutes in his room, inhaling the familiar scent—that would probably gross her out if she thought too hard about what all it contained but smelled like Finn and somehow she was addicted—maybe she'd be able to make it until morning.

If she could just make it through til tomorrow morning, then she could worry about making through the day.

But she'd opened the door to his room, and he'd been awake, sitting there in nothing but his boxers and sheets, looking exactly as she'd always imagined he would if she snuck in his room at night: confused and tired, disheveled in a way that made her want to dishevel him some more.

She couldn't remember making a decision about anything, but she was moving before she'd even realized it.

Surely this was all just a dream.

The world was still so normal, she'd stood in this exact spot in his room so many times, felt the exact same way and how should that be possible when _everything_ was different? Her parents couldn't be dead-or-in-a-coma, she and Finn hadn't broken up because of course he hadn't slept with Santana, and how could she possibly conceive of cheating on him when he was the one she loved? It was a dream, and here she was in his room, admiring the little lines that appeared between his brows whenever he was trying too hard to figure out what was going on.

She didn't have to be lonely and sad because he was right there, waiting for her. For tonight, she could dream and forget everything that hurt. She was tired of hurting. Tired of worrying about what to do, how to apologize, tired of crying, and hating herself and hating everyone else.

The desire to burst into tears and crawl into him until Rachel and Finn disappeared and RachelandFinn were all that was left washed over her. He could either turn her away or welcome her with open arms, and she should never have even come in here to give him the opportunity for either. But here she was, and it was too late to back out, and she didn't even want to.

Before she knew it, she was crawling over him, and he was gazing at her like he used to, like he loved her, like she was beautiful, like there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be than right here with her. There was really nowhere else she'd rather be tonight either, not when this was the first time since she heard about the accident that she didn't feel like the world had ended and left her behind.

And so now she laid here, remembering the way it had all felt, the way he'd looked at her, relishing in having his arms around her waist and his face tucked against her neck. His breath was warm and steady across her skin.

She could finally breathe again without every exhale turning into a broken sob. For all her acting talent, she was failing miserably at concealing how devastated she was. Used to milking her emotions for all they were worth, hiding them wasn't a skill she'd cultivated yet. Why she felt the need to do so in the first place was a mystery; she'd never been afraid to show her emotions before. She'd always allowed herself to fall apart and feel things fully.

Maybe she'd always been able to because she knew someone would be there to catch her, not matter what. Now there was no one. If she fell apart, who would be there? Kurt, maybe, or Puck, a long shot, but being caught by a friend was different than being caught and held and cherished by a loved one.

Finn had said he loved her. After it was over, he'd said he loved her. But how could he? She remembered the greenroom before Sectionals, how he'd yelled at her, the sound of Santana's voice saying "We all just pretend to like you."

He'd yelled at her instead of defending her. Not like she had any room to complain; by that point, she'd already made out with Puck and ruined the best relationship she was likely ever to have. She was riddled with guilt, then and now.

_I never thought you'd make me feel like this._

The look on his face—

But that had been her goal, hadn't it? To hurt him the way she hurt? And hadn't she succeeded? Why couldn't he understand that she'd felt the exact same way watching him check out Santana in the hallway, seeing the smirk that lit up his face even briefly.

She sat up suddenly, pulling herself from his grasp. (If there was one thing she'd learned from dating Finn, it was that he could sleep through anything.) What the hell was she thinking?

It was simple: she hadn't been. She'd been needy and desperate and fallen right back into the pattern that got herself there in the first place: seeking comfort wherever it could be found, damn the consequences. As if it had gone so well for her before. Except this time she went so much further. She'd _slept_ with Finn, and that was something she couldn't take back or even apologize for. Not that she wanted to, because she didn't regret it, exactly, but—

Kurt was still waiting for her to come back to his room, and Finn had broken up with her. Her dad was in the hospital, for God's sake, and her daddy was dead and all she could do was crawl in bed—literally—with her ex-boyfriend because when she'd seen him in the middle of the night, he'd had a boner. Good God, she wasn't naive, but apparently she was stupid. He could've been thinking about anyone. She could've been interrupting something—personal. Or maybe in his half-asleep state, he'd forgotten all that had happened between them recently and not realized fully what he was doing (not like she had either, really. She still wasn't sure where she was or what was going on—_nothing_ made sense anymore). She'd wanted love and comfort, had turned it into sex, which she _knew _wasn't the same thing. It had seemed a pretty good approximation at the time.

She stood up and slipped his shirt back on (Kurt had given it to her from the laundry room when they'd gotten to his house, saying she needed something to sleep in and he wasn't letting her near one of his while she was still apt to break into 'messy, snotty tears'—his words). It was soft and faded, well-worn and smelling like fresh lavender laundry detergent. She would bet Finn didn't even recognize the smell for what it was other than the scent of his clean laundry.

_I knew you were a lot of things, Rachel, and I loved you because and in spite of all of them. But I never thought you were mean._

He'd been wrong. She wasn't mean; she was a coward. She was afraid of not measuring up, of being replaceable, of losing to Santana, of never finding someone to love and desire _her_ above all others. Now she was running from him because she couldn't bear to see the expression on his face when he woke up and saw her; she couldn't let him break her heart again, not now.

She wouldn't survive it. That wasn't even the drama queen in her speaking, it was the real, true Rachel Berry who'd just lost everything in the world she had, and to lose anything else right now, to have him shoot her down or reject her now, after this, it would kill her.

There wasn't even room in her left to worry about whether or not he'd been disappointed with her. Her breasts weren't as big as Santana's, and she didn't have any skills or know where to touch or what to do. She wasn't waxed down there, and her nose was too big and her hands were manly. In any other variation of this situation, she'd be fretting.

Now the world was starting to spin around her, not in a dizzy way, more of an I'm-going-to-pass-out way and she'd never passed out in her life. Voices echoed in her head, Santana bragging about having slept with Finn, Quinn threatening to punch her every time she opened her mouth, Mr. Schue yelling about her horrible personality, her dads saying they loved her always no matter what, Finn asking if they're part of something special, Mercedes saying how sick she was of hearing her talk, Santana—

_We all just pretend to like you._

She shut her brain down and scrambled to the floor, searching for her underwear. No more worrying or thinking or planning. She'd spent her whole life worrying about the future and look where it had gotten her. She'd planned and strategized and pushed through everything in her way because the future was there awaiting her. Only none of it had really mattered, had it? Despite sixteen years of preparation and patience, all of her dreams had died in less than a month and if she didn't find her underwear and get out of here soon, she'd starting crying. And not the type of crying that could be muffled, but the kind that came with screaming and pleading to God and pressing her face into a pillow until she couldn't breathe.

Her underwear were a lost cause, so she stalked to Finn's dresser, ripped open his top drawer, and pulled out a pair of his boxers to slip on. He wouldn't notice their absence but he would definitely notice if she collapsed on his floor wailing.

She wasn't ready to face him. Being held against him, in his arms, had brought her the closest thing to peace she'd felt all day and it was all well and good in the middle of the night when questions were harder to find and thoughts didn't seem as important, but to face him in the light of day, in the reality of their situation—she couldn't do it. Not yet.

So she ran. Across the hall, into Kurt's room, where she crawled into his double bed beside him. Curling on her side, she turned away from him and his worried gaze, biting down on her knuckles to stifle her cries.

If only sleep came when it was really needed.

After several moments of her heaving, stifled sobs, she felt the covers being lifted and tucked in around her shoulders. Kurt leaned over, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"You're not alone, Rachel," he whispered. It was the one thing in the world she needed to hear above all else. And somehow, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Finn woke with the feeling that the world today was going to suck a lot more than it had when he fell asleep. Of course, it took him a moment to remember when and how he'd fallen asleep but when he did, the breath in his lungs literally got stuck.

Had that really happened?

His eyes hurt in the way that meant they really just wanted to stay closed a bit longer and he could tell without looking that he was naked. With his nose buried in the nook between his pillow and mattress, it was impossible to deny Rachel's presence. How the hell else could her scent get all over his sheets? And, he thought, inhaling as deeply as his chest allowed, why did she have to smell so freaking good? It would be a lot easier to hate her if she stank.

Except he didn't hate her at all, did he? He just wanted her to be the girl he'd thought she was, not the stranger who'd appeared and made-out with Puck to get back at him for something he did a year ago before they were even dating.

It surprised him to be surprised by her absence in the morning. Had he thought sex would make all their troubles go away? (Okay, maybe, a little bit. And maybe that made him naive, but he really wanted all this crap over and done with.) The truth of the matter was he'd simply forgotten everything but the girl in his arms for those few hours when she was in his arms. He'd forgotten her sins, and his own, and he'd forgotten to be angry or hurt.

She'd been just Rachel, and he'd been just Finn. What hurt the most was he knew beyond doubt there was no better combination in the world.

The issue wasn't forgiveness. He'd forgiven her the moment he'd met her eyes last night. But all the forgiveness in the world couldn't erase what she'd done, and how much he hurt because of it.

He loved her. He knew that as well as he knew his own name. But laying in his bed, alone (without Rachel), in the growing morning light, he still couldn't forget the image of Puck and Rachel. Together. _Kissing. _

Forgiving was easy; forgetting, another matter entirely.

The teenaged boy in him wanted more of last night, no matter what. The two-year-old in him sat with arms crossed, pouting, urging him to forget Rachel or maybe make-out with Santana to make them even (Thank God he knew better than that. He did. That didn't mean the thought hadn't crossed his mind). Another part of him he didn't quite know what to call wanted to find Rachel, throw her over his shoulder, and lock her in his room until they worked out all their problems.

He thought he might call that particular voice the caveman. The longer he lay there, the more appealing its suggestion became.

He only knew that another month like the past one (without Rachel) would kill him.

* * *

I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I actually had to go back to work. I'd get more writing done at work if I didn't have to switch languages all the time, which makes my grammar and spelling attrocious.

I rewatched Special Education and I just . . . cannot understand what happened with Finn. It's like he was abducted by aliens and replaced by a pod person until the last hallway scene (the breakup) and then abducted again for the performance of Dog Days. WTF writers? He's like an entirely new character in that episode, so it's making dealing with his actions and his thoughts really difficult. Mostly I think I can attribute it to being a teenager and being a guy. Teenagers rarely make sense rationally, and guys never do (I kid, of course. They make sense about 30 percent of the time).

Also, I saw some spoilers for next episode (Merry Christmas Darling video) and I just . . . really, really hope what it seems like isn't really what's happening. Because otherwise, I will lose any and all respect and liking I had for Finn. And I had a really hard time writing this with any sort of sympathy or liking for Finn after seeing that. I might end up changing around where I was planning on going with this. It'll still end up Finchel, but I might need to add in some things to deal with whatever happens on Tuesday.

We'll see.

Thanks for continuing to read and review! It's all that's getting me through this agonizing worry about what will happen next with Finchel.

Thanks for stopping by, and please remember to review on your way out! :)


	5. tell me where do we go from here?

By the time Finn dragged himself out of bed and downstairs, Kurt had already left for the day, shocking both his dad and step-mother by leaving the house before they'd even woken up. Only his hastily scrawled note kept them from freaking out. Finn didn't know what the hell was going on with everyone—first Rachel appearing in his room in the middle of the night and disappearing just as quickly, then Kurt's odd behavior on the phone the day before and now getting up before he had to over Christmas break?

Even more confusing, where they connected? Did Kurt and Rachel have something going on? (If he weren't absolutely sure Kurt was into guys, he'd be suspicious. As it stood, he was just confused. They'd never hung out before, especially outside Glee. Maybe they were choreographing a song. That made sense.)

It was hard not to pick up the phone and call Rachel. He'd thought he could push last night out of his mind (he'd certainly done the same to his night with Santana, not that they were comparable experiences, but he wasn't technically in a relationship with either of them) only at every turn, he'd been assaulted with memories. Rachel straddling him in nothing but his shirt (he was positive it was one of his now that he had full brain function back and knew he hadn't been dreaming), the sound of her breathing hard in his ear, her hands (thank God for blunted fingernails) gripping his shoulders and back and ass. The feel of her—warm and solid and soft and so small that he could cover every bit of her with himself—beneath him, pressing back against him, shuddering.

Even a cold shower didn't help. Washing himself was somehow like reliving every moment she'd touched him. Only not nearly as exhilarating.

And it wasn't just physical, which pissed him off. Of course a guy would remember being with a hot girl, that he could—did—understand. But he longed for her. He'd always thought at was a stupid phrase; longing for someone. What did it even mean? He'd never known until now. He'd wanted a father, but longing was something you had to have experienced first, or else it was just wishing. Hanging around Rachel, holding her and being held, talking, laughing, singing, all of it—he longed for it back. To see her. To look at her and study her and have her do the same to him. They were connected in a way he'd never been with another person.

Having sex had just made it worse.

So when he received the frantic call from Sam, explaining how Quinn's father had been killed in a car accident the day before, his first thought was of Rachel–rather unsympathetic of him given the focus should've been on Quinn. But he couldn't help wondering if Rachel knew? Had someone called her to tell her? The Glee Club had decided, thanks to Mr. Schu and Sam, that they would all go to the memorial service the next day in support of their teammate. He hadn't needed to wonder about Rachel long, though. Sam asked if he could go by Rachel's and let her know, because Sam hadn't gotten ahold of her when he'd called.

Why anyone thought Rachel would answer her phone for him when she hadn't for everyone else was beyond him; they of all people knew he and Rachel were done. Still, he decided it couldn't hurt to run by her house (maybe Kurt was there and he could get some answers from both of them while he was at it). He hardly needed the excuse. The idea of not seeing her until school started back in January terrified him.

The drive to Rachel's was short. She lived in a nicer neighborhood, but Lima wasn't very big. When he got there, the driveway was empty. He wasn't sure if her parents were away for a few days or not (a month ago he'd have known—he'd have taken advantage of every business trip to be making out with her in her room, no parents hovering nearby). He approached the door hesitantly, not wanting to face her and unable to stand not seeing her for another moment.

He was going crazy. It was the only explanation. She'd finally succeeded in driving nuts.

He couldn't even bring himself to regret it. How messed up was that?

No one answered the door when he knocked. Then he rang the doorbell, and still no one came. He waited, leaning over to look in the windows, but nothing within the house moved. There weren't even any lights on, which was what convinced him Rachel wasn't there (and ignoring him. He didn't put it past her). His ex-girlfriend was never home alone in the dark. He didn't understand how a simple light could make her feel safe, but there were many things he hadn't understood about her.

If she wasn't at home, he wasn't sure he wanted to know where she was. He prayed to God she wasn't with Puck. Not that he thought she'd run from his bed to Puck's, Rachel wasn't like that, but then, he hadn't thought Rachel would cheat either.

Except she didn't cheat because she wanted Puck, she cheated to make him hurt. Why go to Puck now? And what did Kurt have to do with any of it?

He whipped out his phone, suddenly determined to find her and get to the bottom of this. She had no right to sneak in his room, sleep with him, then disappear without a word. They may have been broken up but he still loved her, damn it, and he'd stupidly told her so. She owed him an explanation. Maybe there was still a chance for them. Last night, despite everything, had been the best night of his life, hands down. Sex with Rachel, it didn't even compare to what he'd done with Santana. He might as well have been jerking off to a porno with Santana; with Rachel, he finally understood why all the movies (and his mom's romance novels, which he only read because he found out they had descriptions of sex and—hello, teenage guy) made it seem so magical.

It had been a freaking miracle. Like he'd beaten all the advanced levels of Halo, eaten the best meal of his life, and never ever had to go to school again but could play all the football he wanted. But better. And it reminded him of singing with her, because for those few moments, they weren't separate people at all but one thing, with one purpose and one goal and one euphoric feeling (Rachel had taught him that word last summer when she'd been trying to describe how she felt after a day of just the two of them—"I'm more than happy," she'd said, "I'm euphoric").

It had been more than just sex. It had been love. And fuck it all, he couldn't think of it otherwise.

When the phone rang through the first time, he hit redial, and waited again. It didn't matter how many times he had to call, he would continue until she answered or his phone died. He didn't have to leave her a message threatening just that because she picked up after the fourth ring on his second try.

"Hi Finn," she said, and he cursed caller ID.

"Hey Rachel." Here came the hard part. How to speak to her without pissing her off or hurting her, and without letting her run all over him. He waited, hoping she might have something to say, but she stayed quiet.

He broke the silence. "So . . . are we pretending what happened last night didn't happen?"

That hadn't been what he'd meant to say, but it was what he'd really wanted to know and it came out anyway.

"I can't do this right now," she said after a long pause. He knew her voice well enough to hear the tears she was trying to stifle.

No matter the circumstances, he hated making her cry (but was it really so bad to have slept with him that she'd be crying about it?). He back-tracked, "I'm not—look, that's not why I called. Quinn's dad was in a car accident yesterday. He died. There's going to be a memorial service tomorrow morning and Mr. Schu thought we should all go to show our support for Quinn. No one else could get ahold of you, so I went by your house but you're not here."

"I'm not at my house," she said. He was really starting to worry now. He'd never heard her voice so blank before. Usually she was full of emotion; no matter what emotion, she nearly burst with it on a daily basis. Now she just sounded—empty. Like she was repeating the phrase because it was true but she couldn't believe it and at the same time, thought it should be obvious.

He knew it was a bad sign when even his thoughts were confusing him.

"Uh, no, you're not. So I was thinking I could give you a ride in the morning if you want. I don't know if your dads are out of town or what, but—"

"I'm not going," was all she said, only she didn't say it so much as she choked it. Then he heard the distinctive click that said she'd hung up on him.

He wanted to be pissed at her. And he was sure he would be if he wasn't so confused. Rachel had never been this way before. She'd always been the first to rush to someone's side if they needed it, even when she didn't like them or they didn't like her. And she'd never, ever hung up on him, even when she was really mad.

Goddamnit, he was sick of being confused! Christmas was his favorite time of year; he loved winter, football season, presents, snow, Christmas cookies, all of it. But enjoying it this year was proving impossible; first his girlfriend found out about his night with Santana, then she cheated on him, and Glee tied at Sectionals (and what's worse is that he knew they'd have won hands down if he and Rachel had sung the lead—only he wasn't sure they'd have been able to after what had happened in the greenroom), all the chaos of their school Christmas celebrations, then Rachel last night, and her ignoring him now. What the hell could possible come next? Another baby drama?

Oh _god. _He'd had sex with Rachel last night without protection and he had to be the biggest idiot in the world because he _knew_ better and he'd been doubly paranoid with Santana (he'd have used two condoms if he'd thought it wouldn't just make things worse, but he'd made sure she was on the pill in addition to the condom) and how could he have been so fucking _stupid_? The only thing worse than Rachel getting pregnant right now with his child would be if she got pregnant with Puck's baby and _god, _he had to lean his head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, to keep himself from throwing up all over his car at the thought.

She hadn't slept with Puck, he told himself. She couldn't get pregnant from kissing. It didn't help because he could still picture it and why in the hell was all this happening? This year had been going so freaking well! Perfect, actually, which he hadn't really appreciated until it was over. He'd been so upset over getting his quarterback position back and religion (how stupid was he to waste time praying to a fucking grilled cheese sandwich?) and his mom's marriage and Kurt's bullying (who cared if the guys on the hockey team were douche-bags? why did he care what they thought about him? He could take whatever they could dish out, and why was he only now realizing all this?). If only he could go back and smack himself in the head so he could enjoy having Rachel look at him with those goddamn stars in her eyes like he'd hung the moon (and he really, really wished he had when she looked at him like that because she deserved someone who could and would so something like that for her. Except he knew it wasn't really possible, and did that mean no one deserved Rachel?), he'd do it without a second thought.

Then he remembered that she'd cheated on him, and thought maybe she wasn't as perfect as he wanted to believe.

So now he had to worry not only about why Rachel was acting more bat-shit crazy than usual, but also whether or not they were going to be parents in nine months.

His mom was going to kill him.

First he had to figure out where the hell Rachel was and what she was doing. Then he needed to ask his mom what he should wear to a funeral—he'd never been to one before. Except maybe his dad's but he'd been a baby.

God, poor Quinn. He wondered if it was better to have lost a dad you never knew or a dad you remembered and loved. Even if her dad had been a complete asshole and kicked her out of the house for getting pregnant, and cheated on his wife. He'd still been her dad. This had to be devastating.

* * *

She was having a panic attack. That was the only explanation. They were holding a funeral tomorrow for Quinn's dad, the one who ran his car into her dads and put her in this mess and how could anyone expect her to go and stand there and be sad for Quinn, but then she couldn't really blame Finn because he didn't know about her dads and she should tell him but if she did, he'd pity her and be nice and comforting and she didn't want him to forgive her because of pity and—

She couldn't even pause to breathe in her head.

There was no way she was going. She'd hide in this hospital room, no matter what anyone—Kurt—threatened her with. And she didn't care what anyone in Glee Club thought because she'd spent the past year and a half trying to get them to like her and be her friend, only to be shown quite irrefutably that they cared about one thing in regards to her: her voice. And more importantly, how her voice could help them win Regionals.

She was done. She'd wasted so much time trying to earn their friendship and trust when she could've been spending it with her dads, and now she'd never get the chance to be with them again.

"Hey Rachel?" Kurt asked, walking back into the room. "Ms. Pillsbury's here. She's got some paperwork for you to fill out. You're still a minor, and with your dads both—well, apparently she's figured out a way for you to be temporarily emancipated thanks to your excellent academic history and leadership abilities. All you have to do is sign some forms."

"Okay," she whispered. None of it made any sense to her. Maybe this was how Finn always felt when she used big words. Like they just went right over her head and their meaning refused to sink to her level for her to catch.

Kurt didn't say anything for a long moment. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?" She didn't look up from her dad's hospital bed.

"When are you going to tell Finn? Or the others? I know they—we—haven't always been great to you, and I know that you and Finn are on the outs, but you know they'd all be here to help you. Everyone was really great when my dad was in the hospital and it helped to have friends around. And they're going to wonder why you're not at the funeral for Quinn's dad."

That got her attention. "How do you know about that?"

"Just got off the phone with Finn. He wanted to know if I knew where you were or what was going on with you." Kurt stepped closer to her, his arms crossed over his chest and fiddling with his scarf in one hand. "He's really worried about you. I know things are-" he slowed his words, making sure not to say anything wrong, "-not great between you right now. I know he's hurt you and visa versa, but I think he would want to know about this. He does love you."

She knew they'd all find out soon, eventually. It didn't matter to her when. "I want him to forgive me, not pity me."

"Shouldn't he get to decide how he feels? He's probably already forgiven you, Rachel. But you hurt his pride. I think that's the main problem right now. He needs to realize his ego isn't as important as you are." Kurt said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "And don't think I didn't notice how long you were in his room last night. Since he obviously doesn't know about all this, I'm guessing you guys didn't spend much time talking."

She flushed. The whole thing seemed more of a dream than anything, until she heard it out loud. Then somehow, the night before became real.

"Yes, well," she said, then cleared her throat because she wasn't sure she was really saying this aloud and she had to be mature about this so that Kurt wouldn't think she was some silly schoolgirl who'd just lost her virginity to the love of her life. "Few boys would turn down sex."

Kurt choked on his smile. Coughing, he took his hand back from her shoulder and pressed against his chest as if in pain. "God, I did _not_ need to know that. I never said anything about sex, Berry! And I can't believe you did that with him when I was only a door away, then came back to bed with me without even a shower or change of clothes! There are so many things wrong with that. Ugh. Just—ugh."

Her lips curved without her thinking about it. It was hard not to smile at him, even though everything was wrong and messed up and she'd been absolutely certain she'd forgotten how to smile at all.

"I guess I should tell him, huh?" she asked, feeling the knot in her stomach flip and tighten at the thought. Her phone was already in her pocket, so she didn't have an excuse to put it off. Other than abject terror, anxiety, and nausea (she wasn't sure she'd be able to say the words out loud without throwing up).

He'd been smiling back at her, relieved to see a more normal expression on her face, but it faded after she spoke. "Yeah, I think you should."

She didn't move. He waited.

"I don't think I can say it. Not aloud. I just—"

Kurt put a hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him from her seat. "Just call him. Tell him to come here, and then you can explain. Or I can. But give him a call."

He left the room to give her privacy, and she felt the weight of her phone on her thigh like never before.

Finn was still speed dial number 3 (after her dads, of course, except now there was no one to answer if she called).

"Finn?" she asked, hating how her voice sounded. She couldn't remember being this hoarse, this raspy. And she didn't even care.

"Rach? Are you actually going to talk to me now or will you hang up again?"

A sob broke apart her lips. She clamped them shut, feeling the cries in her throat bunching up along with the tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just—can you please come to the hospital? I can't—I just really need a hug right now." Another sob escaped. "Please, Finn. I can't—my dads—I don't know how—please come." By the time she finished, she was blubbering into the mouthpiece, sobs coming so hard she couldn't breathe past them.

"I'll be right there. Just—hold on. I'll be right there."

* * *

So I wasn't going to end it here, but it felt right and I have to go to bed because it's passed 1 in the morning but I wanted to post something tonight. Thanks so much for your continued reviews and support! It means so much! Keep it up! (Pretty pretty please?)

So I've been re-watching early Season 1, and it just makes me more mad at Finn. And at the writers. Rachel gets vilified for cheating on him when Mr. Schu cheats on Emma and Finn cheats on Quinn (several times) as well as sets out to purposely manipulate Rachel's feelings for him in order to get her to rejoin Glee and what kind of a douche-bag does that? And yeah, he ends up falling for her, but that doesn't excuse his actions and how badly he hurts her. She even asks him "What about Quinn?" and he tells her "I don't know whats going to happen," even though he already knows Quinn is pregnant, thinks its his, and has promised to stick by Quinn. That's just cruel. She's forgive him a lot and he can't seem to get over himself enough to realize that maybe sometimes forgiveness has to go both ways.

On a completely different note, the Christmas episode actually gave me hope. That look at the end, the two of them at Schu's apartment, gave me hope. On the other hand, I hate that Rachel spends the whole time trying to win him back and trying to get his forgiveness when she deserves some apologies too (that she never got last week). And how about when Puck was commenting on Quinn's weight gain, Finn jumps in to say "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that." What happened to that Finn, and why can't he protect Rachel from even crueler commentary?

I'm so glad to know I'm not the only one watching Glee thinking these things! Sorry to rant at the end of every chapter, but I gotta get this stuff off my chest and I feel like it helps explain my story. Feel free to rant in your reviews! I don't mind at all!

Thanks again for reading, and please leave a little review as you go!


	6. when does the end appear

So I normally don't respond directly to reviews because it takes so much time away from writing (and I have so little of it as it is). But I had to address two reviews I received directly:

**Diana**: I appreciate constructive comments, and I respect that you have your own opinions. But I think you misunderstand. I don't dislike Finn. I don't think I've been unfair to Finn at all in his character here. I've made him flawed, which he is, but still a genuinely good guy. Just because I feel that his actions in Special Education made him a complete douche-bag doesn't mean I dislike his character. I'm not happy with his character, but there is a difference between that and not liking him. I agree that he's going to eventually forgive Rachel and all will be fine and dandy, but I don't appreciate the way the writers have made Rachel out to be the sole bad guy in the situation, because she wasn't. I don't think she's blameless (she did cheat, and nothing excuses that). But I think her character often gets an unfair deal on the show.

I am a Finchel fan, which means I like and appreciate both characters. And as such, I can see when one is being particularly selfish or childish or hypocritical and still like them as the whole, rounded character that they have the potential to be (but are, of course, restricted by the writers, who aren't perfect). Finn doesn't have to be perfect, but if he's going to be an asshole, I'm going to point it out. I'm not going to apologize for that. You're welcome to your opinion, but so am I.

I don't think Puck or Jesse have good chemistry with Rachel, which is why I don't ship them. Doesn't mean I don't like their characters.

**Dream Writer 4 Life: **I wanted to thank you for your constructive criticism directly. Don't worry, I definitely don't hate you! I love constructive comments. I completely agree with you. I was re-reading the last chapter, and I think I get too caught up in how I think Finn would think. I always imagine his mind would be as easily distracted as mine, with lots of tangents, so I keep adding them in and definitely add too many. Thanks for pointing it out! I tried cutting back in this chapter.

And to everyone else, thank you so much! I love knowing people still read this and still like where I'm taking it and appreciate the writing. I would reply to each of you individually, but I think if given a choice between quicker writing and personal responses, you'd chose the writing. If I'm wrong, please feel free to correct me. ;)

* * *

It took Finn ten minutes to get to the hospital. His car screeched to a halt in the parking deck, and he couldn't help the adrenaline rushing through his veins at the knowledge that he very nearly hit every car he'd passed. But no matter how terrified the thought of hitting someone or something made him, his foot wouldn't let up on the gas. Not with Rachel's voice—Rachel's _tears_—repeating in his head over and over again.

He'd heard her stage crying. He'd heard her cry when her heart was broken (by him, which made it all that much worse). He'd heard her cry when they lost Regionals or out of happiness when they'd won. He'd heard her cry when her ex-boyfriend egged and humiliated her (the bastard).

But he'd never, ever heard her sound so sad. Sad didn't even cover it. There wasn't a word (that he knew) to express it. And hearing so much pain from Rachel, when he wasn't there to hold her or fix it, or at the very least find out what the hell was wrong, killed him.

Why would she be at the hospital unless something was really, really wrong?

He hurried past the front desk and down the corridor before remembering that he had no idea where Rachel was, exactly, and the hospital was a pretty big place. Backtracking, he paused before the secretary at the front desk, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

"So, I'm looking for someone but I have no idea what room she's in or even why she's here. She just called me and told me to come, and—"

"What's the name?" the woman drawled, cutting him off and typing something on the computer.

"Uh, Rachel Berry. But I don't know if she's the one who was hurt or if it's someone else—"

"I don't have a Rachel, but I have a Leroy Berry. He's in room 424, in the neurological intensive care." She pointed down the hall. "Take the elevator."

Leroy. That was her dad, right? Or her daddy. He could never keep them straight. Which didn't matter because one of her dads was in the neurological intensive care? He had no clue what neurological meant, but intensive care was bad, right? All those crime shows made it seem like that was the worst place to be.

What had happened?

He got to the specified floor, found the right hallway and was almost to the right room when he ran into Ms. Pillsbury and Kurt.

That answered his question about Kurt's involvement. But it' d been since yesterday that he'd been acting weird—this couldn't have been going on since then. Rachel would have called him if something was really wrong.

Right? They may not be dating anymore but they were still friends and stuff. And where was the rest of the Glee Club? And Mr. Schu?

Ms. Pillsbury looked at him with her eyes wider than usual, but Kurt merely waved him on, pointing to the room two doors down on the right. The door was cracked open, and even though he couldn't see her, he knew she was in there.

There was a pit in his stomach a mile wide, and somehow he knew that something bad waited for him. He wanted to be there because Rachel had sounded so-so devastated on the phone. But he was scared. He was really, really scared.

"Rachel?" he asked, peeking into the room as if something evil and gross was going to jump out at him like in one of those horror movies Rachel hated.

The only thing that hit him when he entered, though, was the sight of Rachel, his girlfriend-ex-girlfriend-love-of-his-life-best-friend-girl-who-broke-his-heart, curled up on a small hospital recliner, her head resting against the back, knees tucked under her chin, her arms wrapped around herself seeming the only things keeping her together. He wondered if he touched her she'd dissolved, she looked so small and fragile and broken. All that emotion and passion, that presence that made her Rachel, was gone.

And in the hospital bed next to her was a large black man, the one he recognized as her dad (the nice one, though he was bigger than the other). Finn only remembered Rachel had described him as a giant teddy bear. The dark skin was pale, tinged in yellow, with tubes up his nose and a steady beeping filling the room. For some reason, heart monitors always made him nervous. Like at any moment, that beeping would stop and the sound only drew attention to the inevitable silence that would come.

"Rachel?" he prompted again, and she heard him this time, he knew, because her eyes clenched shut, tears slipping out from beneath her long, dark lashes. "What's going on?" He stepped up beside her chair, telling his hand to reach for her but his limbs failed to obey. Instead he just felt numb all over, the pit in his stomach suddenly filled with something heavy and solid.

"My daddy's dead," she sobbed. Her hands came up to hide her face. "There was an accident and he's dead." The words were muffled by cries, shallow breaths, and her splayed fingers.

He glanced at the bed again, noting the slight rise and fall of the man's chest. Dead? "But Rachel—"

"My daddy's dead and my dad's in a coma, Finn, and I can't breathe." She trembled from head to toe, and he was on his knees in front of her, pulling her against his chest and pressing her face into his neck, holding one hand on the back of her head and the other wrapped all the way around her because she was so freaking small. She shuddered so hard all over. He tightened his grip. His knees were going to kill him if he stayed like that too long, so he pulled her out of the chair, falling backwards until he was seated on the ground with his legs crossed and Rachel bundled in his lap. His own breaths came harsher, scraping up out of his throat and he knew he wouldn't be singing for awhile. Shivers passed from her to him and back to her so that he no longer knew which one of them was shaking.

They weren't his tears he cried, that rattled his chest and got stuck in his throat. They were hers, and he was sharing them with her because he knew if she had to cry them all herself, she'd shatter into a thousand pieces. She was so small already, and her dads had been in an accident (something about that tickled the back of his mind but he didn't pursue it—the most important thing was holding the girl in his lap). They were the most important people in the world to her—now they were gone. After everything that had happened, how much more could one person take?

This was still the girl who'd made out with Puck to hurt him, but somehow that didn't even hurt anymore. Not in comparison to the realization that he was the one she'd called, he was the one holding her and crying with her, and being here, now, with her was more important than anything. It no longer mattered that every girl he'd loved had cheated on him with Puck (what _was_ it about that guy?) or that when she'd told him about what she'd done, all he could think was what was wrong with _him_ to make girls turn to another guy all the time (and why _Rachel _who was so much better than all of them)?

Her tears soaked through his sweater. The world around them blurred until he wasn't sure if it was from the tears in his own eyes or the fact that everything else just seemed to fade away until all that was left in his universe was Rachel—soft, warm, tiny, fragile Rachel. Distraught Rachel. Rachel who needed to be held and him, who needed to hold her.

They sat like that on the floor of the hospital room for a long time. If a nurse or Kurt or Ms. Pillsbury had entered, he hadn't noticed. Though her sobs had quieted, Rachel still trembled in his arms, her face buried right in that little nook where his shoulder and neck met. He'd shifted at some point so his back was to the recliner, leaning against it. One hand stroked her hair and kept trying to brush her bangs out of her face (what little of it wasn't hidden against him and he didn't even mind not being able to see it because he could feel it and that was just as good).

His cheeks had that crusty feeling from letting tears dry because he hadn't been able to lift a hand from Rachel to wipe them. There was an ache in his chest, probably his lungs, tired from having to work so hard to breathe past whatever was stuck in his throat.

He'd thought he knew what it was to have problems: Quinn getting pregnant, her lie, Puck's betrayal (twice now), Jesse's arrival, his mom starting a serious relationship, living with Kurt, losing his spot on the football team, his girlfriend cheating on him (the one he loved beyond anything he knew how to describe). Even indirectly, through Kurt, watching him deal with bullying and being different. Seeing firsthand how much it would suck to be gay, and not have any control over it or choice in the matter. Just having to deal with it and get picked on, or not deal with it and pretend to be someone else your whole life.

But to lose a parent, now, one that you knew and relied on (not some photograph on the wall who should've been there but never really had been so you didn't quite know what, exactly, to miss), and maybe even to lose both in one swoop—just the thought of losing his mom brought him to tears again. He would die. He—Finn Hudson—would absolutely cease to exist because who was he without his mom? Sure, he had friends, football, Glee Club, a life of his own, but she was the foundation upon which that life had been built. Without the foundation, all of it would come tumbling down. And eventually he might have rebuilt, but it would never, ever be as strong or as complete as before.

He needed that to not happen to Rachel. She had to be okay, because the only way he would be okay was if she was okay.

It terrified him, loving her like this. He'd thought at the time he'd loved Quinn, but that was easy compared to this. Seeing her cry had been hard because she was a girl, and he didn't want her sad. But having Rachel fall apart in his arms felt like _he_ was going to fall apart. There wasn't an option; he had to fix things, he had to have her smiling again even if it took the rest of his life.

He hummed. No song magically popped into his head to sing her and comfort her, lyrics out of his reach. But there was a tune on his lips, whether he'd heard it before or made it up, he didn't know. He just hummed against the top of her head, swearing to himself that he was never, ever letting her go.

* * *

Kurt had to figure out what the hell was going on, stat. Now that Finn was here to help Rachel, he could call the rest of the club and find out what the hell had happened between them and Rachel so that now she didn't want them to know about her dads. He also needed to know how Quinn could have heard the news about her dad without hearing about Rachel's dads. Surely they weren't all so heartless as to call and implore Rachel to go to Quinn's father's memorial service despite knowing about her own parents. Somehow the information, key as it was, had been omitted.

He waited for Sam to pick up his phone. Calling Quinn directly was a bit insensitive, but Sam would know what was going on better than anyone (or he should, as Quinn's boyfriend).

"Hey, Kurt, what's up?"

"Hi, Sam. Listen, I need to know more about Quinn's dad. I know this seems weird, but do you know more about the accident? Who was in the other car? If anyone else died?" He had not idea how to even approach the issue without sounding like a total freak. But it had to be done, and Sam seemed to be the most discreet of the Glee Club (and that may only be because he was the new kid, but it counted).

"Uh, I have no idea, man." Sam paused across the line. "I mean, her dad's been estranged from her and her mom for awhile now, so they just got a call from the hospital that he'd died. No one really offered any details. And now Quinn's mom is pretty wrapped up in preparations for the service and everything, so I haven't heard anything new. Why? What's up?"

Kurt knew it wasn't his place to say anything, but then, he also acknowledged that that had never stopped him before. And in this case, he wasn't sure Rachel would be in any state for a confessional to the group any time soon. They needed to know, but the stress of telling them and dealing with their immediate reactions—well, that was something she didn't need right now. So he'd do it.

"That's what I thought," he started, "Look, Sam, I think we need to get all of the club together today. There's more to it than just Quinn's dad."

"What're you talking about?"

He took a deep breath and jumped. "Rachel's dads were in the other car. One dad is dead and the other is in a coma. Apparently, they were sideswiped by Russell Fabray on their way home from some business in Columbus. Mr. Fabray was drunk."

There was absolute silence on the other end.

"I don't think Rachel knows yet, but at the bar before he left, Mr. Fabray was heard to be ranting about—about the gay takeover of Lima. How we're corrupting the morality of the town." Kurt's voice turned bitter. He'd been standing by when Ms. Pillsbury talked to the police and the words nearly made him sick. He knew bullying, and was terrified of Karofsky. This was different. This was murder of a complete stranger because of a difference that they had no control over.

Honestly. Who would _choose _this?

"Kurt, that's—" Sam stumbled a bit for words, "Please, please tell me that was a bad joke. A really inappropriate, bad joke."

"It's not a joke."

"Oh man, oh _man_. I can't tell Quinn this. Not now. This will destroy her."

"Yeah, it will. And this whole thing sucks. But Rachel deserves our support as much as Quinn does and it isn't fair to hide it from everyone just because Quinn might find out her dad was an intolerant asshole." He hadn't meant to get mad. Losing his temper was one of the last things anyone needed in this situation, but he couldn't help it. Mr. Fabray was Quinn's dad, fine, okay, he understood that. But that didn't make him a good guy, and that didn't excuse his actions. Protecting Quinn was all well and good, but didn't Rachel deserve that same protection? Everyone in Glee Club was going to have to deal with the awkwardness of all this, whether they wanted to or not.

It'd only been a month since he'd even started liking Rachel, but the situation with her dads hit too close to home. They'd been targeted for being gay. He knew what that was like; maybe it should've occurred to him before now, but he'd never really given thought to the fact that Rachel was probably the only straight kid in Lima who could truly understand what life was like for him and what it meant to be gay.

"Whoa, man, I wasn't saying that. I just—she doesn't deserve this. If her mom knows, she hasn't said anything about this. I mean, it's not Quinn's fault her dad did this."

"And it's not Rachel's fault her dads were gay, or that it was Quinn's dad who did this. They _both _need the support of the entire Glee Club right now. So I just thought I'd let you guys know what's going on and why Rachel won't be at the service tomorrow. And I don't know if Finn will be there either." Kurt glanced back down the hall to the doorway Finn had entered at least an hour ago and hadn't yet left. "I doubt it."

"Will you?"

"Yeah, I will. But I'm coming straight back to the hospital, and anyone who wants to come with me is welcome. I don't know what's been going on at McKinley to make Rachel not want to tell any of you—or even tell Mr. Schu! I mean, I know she and Finn broke up, but this is insane. She's one of us!" Kurt paused, remembering that while Rachel was part of New Directions, he no longer was. "I mean, one of you."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Look, dude, I don't know exactly what's going on. She cheated on Finn with Puck, which pissed that Santana chick off worse than she already was. I mean, she hates Rachel. She's kind of been going after her all year, and then the whole thing blew up with Finn. I dunno, Rachel's just annoying, you know? She whined about not having all the solos at Sectionals and every time she opens her mouth it's like, shut up. I guess everyone got fed up with her, finally."

Well, he couldn't disagree. Rachel was annoying a lot of the time.

_I think that you and I are a little bit more similar than you think._

_I know you're lonely._

But she'd understood him when he really needed someone.

_That's twelve people who love you just for being exactly the way that you are. I know that you're lonely, but, you're not alone._

She'd reassured him right when he'd been about to give up (before meeting Blaine, of course). And, if he was perfectly honest,—

"Yeah," he said, trying not to be as snarky as he knew he could be. "but if she'd had the solos at Sectionals, you guys wouldn't have tied. You were good, but you're no Rachel Berry. She may be a diva, but she's no more a diva than me or Mercedes or even Quinn. And guess who got the club to sing songs to show their support of Quinn during her pregnancy? It was Rachel. She came up with "Keep Holding On" and "Lean on Me," and she was the one who encouraged Quinn to stay in Glee Club because she was going to need the friends who would be there for her during her pregnancy."

"Whoa, okay. I didn't know any of that. I was just saying what I think."

"Right." Kurt bit his lip, meeting the stare of the nurse at the nurse's station, her hand motions to get off the phone impossible to miss. "Well, if you could inform the rest of the club. I'm getting the death glare for using a phone in here. I'll see you tomorrow."

Well. That was one problem down. Fifty million or so to go.

* * *

He didn't know what time it was when she finally fell asleep in his arms. His legs were asleep underneath her, and his whole face hurt from crying, but it had to be ten times worse for Rachel. At least now she was getting rest. He couldn't imagine she got much last night, what with sneaking into his room, sleeping with him, then sneaking back out. In fact, he was beginning to think the accident had happened before today and Kurt had known about it and that's why he'd been so mysterious and absent. Which meant that Rachel spent the night either at the hospital, alone at her house, or—and here's the part that really threw him—she spent the night in his step-brother's room across the hall. _Kurt_ had known about this before he had; she'd turned to _Kurt_ instead of him. Logically he understood they were broken up (and okay, so he hadn't really been talking to her a whole lot since), but she'd always turned to him in the past. He was the one the club looked to for information on Rachel or interpretations of her behaviors.

Thinking of her in tears like this without him there to hold her burned in his chest. Why hadn't she called him? Is this why she'd missed Glee practice? How could he have been so stupid as to think it was more of Rachel's drama? No matter what was going on in her life, Rachel _never _missed Glee. Ever. He should've known right then that something was wrong.

Why hadn't she called him?

After everything that had happened recently, he'd thought she couldn't possibly hurt him worse.

He'd been wrong. Knowing that she hadn't trusted him to be there for her hurt a hell of a lot worse than if she'd even slept with Puck. (Okay. Maybe that was going a bit far, but he was pretty sure this would hurt worse. Not that he wanted to find out. Ever.) Yeah, he'd broken up with her, and yeah, he'd been pissed and wanted space but this—this was bigger than their troubles. She'd needed him and he'd have been there for her, no matter what.

Once she was feeling better, he'd have a talk with her to make sure she knew that. Until then, he was content just holding her against him and listening to the continuous beeping of the heart monitor.

"Finn?" Kurt stuck his head in the door.

Finn put a finger to his lips, motioning for quiet as he nodded down at the girl curled up on his lap.

"Hey," Kurt's voice lowered to a whisper, "Good, she needed some serious sleep. I think she got maybe three hours last night. I took her home with me so she wasn't alone and I tried to get her to tell you about all this, but obviously that didn't work." He raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips to the side. "I hope to God you at least used protection."

Blood rushed to his cheeks and he'd swear there was heat coming off them. "Uh, we, uh, didn't really think about it."

Kurt's lips pressed together and he made a sound between a choked scream and a croak. "_Finn!_ That is the last thing we need right now! God, you are such an idiot! Oh my God, you are both such idiots!"

Thankfully he hadn't raised his voice. How he could carry across such disdain with so little sound amazed Finn, but he figured it wasn't a good time to comment on that particular skill.

"Erm, can we talk about this later? There are slightly more pressing things going on."

"Yeah, about that. I told Sam you and Rachel couldn't make it to the service tomorrow morning. Given the circumstances, I figured at least one of us needed to stay with Rachel." Kurt said, leaning back against the wall, eyes fixed now on Rachel's hunched form. "I told him about the whole thing, so I think he's going to tell everyone else. I don't even know how Glee is gonna deal with this. I don't even wanna know how Quinn's going to react. This will devastate her."

Finn had lost track of what was going on about halfway through. The staying with Rachel part he got; the telling Sam about Rachel's dads part he got. It was the last bit that confused him. Yeah, Quinn's dad had died in an accident the day before too, but—

Wait.

"Oh god," he whispered, his arms snaking around Rachel's waist as if to shield her from his own realization. "Oh god. It was the same accident."

Kurt looked confused. "Accident? Finn, Mr. Fabray was drunk and he plowed right into the front of the Berry's car. It wasn't an accident. The police are investigating it as a homicide."

Oh holy _shit._

Quinn's dad had targeted Rachel's parents for being gay. As if it wasn't bad enough to lose your parents, she had to live with the knowledge that they'd died not from an accident but from hate. Someone hated them enough—complete strangers—to end their lives not even giving a thought to the daughter they might be leaving behind.

And Quinn. And the rest of the club.

Oh god, he was going to be sick.

He'd thought he knew what Burt was talking about when he'd yelled at him for using the word fag. He'd talked of the hate in people's hearts and Finn had thought he'd meant words, insults, slurs. But this was the kind of thing he'd meant, wasn't it? This was hate. And Finn knew he never, ever wanted to be mistaken for a person like that again.

He swallowed. There wasn't anything he could do to make this right, not for Rachel or Quinn. Or for any of them. All he could do was sit here and deal with it, and he _hated _that. He wanted to beat someone up, or rewind time and stop any of this from happening, or throw things at the wall and watch them shatter.

"Hey Kurt?" he asked after a moment. "Can you call mom and your dad and let them know what's going on? I want Rachel to stay with us again. I'm not letting her be anywhere alone. We can go by her house and get her some things and she can have my bed. I'll sleep on the floor and we'll leave the door open and everything. I just want to—need to make sure she's alright."

"I get it." Kurt stepped over to the door, hand on his phone. "But you know she can't stay with us forever, right? I don't know what's going to happen. Ms. Pillsbury is working on some paperwork for her emancipation. She might have to go stay with a relative or get placed in a foster home or who knows. I don't have a clue what goes on in situations like this. If her dad never wakes up—"

"He will," Finn interrupted. "He will. And Rachel will stay with us as long as she needs, I don't care what the government or the school counselor says."

Kurt's eyebrow raised to new heights. "Alright. Well, I'll call dad and let him know. And I'll swing by her house to get some essentials. Lord knows you can't do it."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Finn and Rachel to the quiet of the room. Only the machines made any noise, but he tried not to hear them.

Burying his face in her hair, he prayed for the strength to help her through this. And he prayed for her to let him.

And he prayed their family came out of this mess intact.

* * *

Thank you for reading! And please leave a little review. It's scary trying to live up to your expectations!

À bientôt!


	7. when do the trumpets cheer

Merci bien pour vos gentilles reviews! Elles m'encouragent. J'espère que la suite vous plaira encore! Et n'oubliez pas de me dire ce que vous en pensez! Allez, bonne lecture!

Thanks for the wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and remember to let me know what you think! Happy reading!

* * *

When Kurt returned to the hospital at 5 o'clock, he found his step-brother exactly as he'd left him, Rachel Berry bundled in his lap. Her head was tucked against his chest, body was swaddled in his letterman jacket, and his arms the only things holding her in place. Finn's legs had to be killing him, not to mention the angry rumblings of an empty stomach Kurt could hear from the doorway. There were times he envied his brother, like watching him eat whatever he wanted, all day every day, and still manage not to look like a balloon. Or he would envie Finn, if he weren't preoccupied being disgusted.

Carole Hudson was a spectacular mom, but her son had the worst table manners Kurt had ever seen (and he lived with his dad, so that was saying something).

It was a testament to Finn's concern and love for Rachel if—as Kurt was beginning to suspect—he'd forgone lunch to keep from disturbing her.

"Has she been sleeping the whole time?" he asked.

Finn jerked slightly, tightening his grip on the girl in his arms before blinking, once, twice, and squinting up at Kurt. A bit of drool hung down from the corner of his mouth. "Huh, what? Kurt?" He shook his head roughly then reached up with one hand to wipe his mouth. "Uh, yeah she's mostly been sleeping. Some police guys came by earlier to ask her questions but she cried herself to sleep again pretty quickly."

"What'd the police want?"

"Just questions about, you know, had her dads received any threats recently, had there been slurs or—or anything at all suspicious that they'd told her about? Had she heard anything in school? That sort of thing." Finn yawned after he spoke, smoothing a hand down Rachel's hair almost absently. "Did you talk to mom?"

"Yeah. She said it's fine if Rachel stays. I already dropped of some of Rachel's things at the house. She was going to come down here herself but she got called in to work at the last minute." Kurt pulled up one of the chairs so he faced Finn as he sat. "Has Ms. Pillsbury come back?"

"No."

Silence weighed down on them, sharpened by the steady, high-pitched beep of the heart monitor. Both felt their eyes drawn to the sleeping girl, two pairs of eyebrows wearing matching expressions of frustrated concern.

They spoke again at the same time.

"She's on birth control."

"Puck called."

Kurt raised his hand for quiet. "I found birth control pills in her bathroom. As far as I can tell—not that I'm an expert in these things—she's up to date. Of course, she probably missed last night's dose, but one won't hurt, right? And we'll make sure she takes tonight's."

Finn's mind finally caught up with the conversation and he snapped his jaw closed. "Okay."

"That's one worry down. Now what was that about Puck?"

"He called."

"_And_ . . . "

"He said he was sorry, and he wanted to be here. But apparently Quinn knows about all this now and she's not letting Sam, or anyone, in her house, so Puck was on his way over there to help Quinn. I think he said something about breaking in if he had to." Finn didn't drag his eyes from Rachel, dropping his head down to rest against hers halfway through his speech. "He said to take care of her and he'd be here tomorrow with the others."

"Ah." Well, that answered his question about the others and whether or not Sam had come through.

"What do I do?" Finn asked, the words muffled by Rachel's hair and his own low tone.

"What do you do about what?"

"To help Rachel. To make this better. What do I do?" Finn's hands were clenched in the edges of his letterman jacket, the fabric bunched between his tensed fingers.

Finn was such a guy. Kurt knew from experience that the only thing to get you through things like this was time. But his dad had been the same way after his mother's death. He did everything he could, physically, throwing himself into his business and into making a home for just the two of them. He'd appreciated it, of course, but he'd never understood his dad's need to be doing something, all the time, as if he would be a failure for standing still and holding his son and maybe shedding a tear, together.

Kurt had been gifted, somehow, with the knowledge that there really wasn't anything to do. Maybe wait, and offer a shoulder. Offer a hand.

"You're doing it," he finally answered, deciding that was the best way to satisfy Finn and be honest. "Just hold her when she needs it. Let her know that you're there for her. Love her."

Finn's voice was hoarse, "I feel useless."

There wasn't anything to say to that, not that he'd listen to, anyway, so Kurt kept silent. He noticed the glint of gold around Rachel's neck—her star necklace. Her dads had given it to her when she was a child and decided she wanted to be a star.

"She might never be the same, Finn," he mused out loud. "So much of who she was came from her dads. It'll be hard for her to find that again without them." He remembered sitting at his dad's bedside in the hospital, waiting and hoping for him to wake up. Resenting prayer because it had never worked for him before.

Finn finally picked his head up, meeting his brother's gaze. His eyes were lined with red, puffy, and his cheeks bright from being pressed into Rachel's hair. "We'll just have to remind her. As often as it takes."

* * *

Rachel was quiet when they roused her to go home for the night. She was quiet when Burt and Carole offered their condolences and welcomed her to stay however long she needed, and she was quiet throughout dinner. It would've worried Finn, except he kind of knew it would take her awhile to recover. In fact, everyone was subdued at dinner—Carole and Burt spent most of the time discussing their plans for the next day and trying to talk over the uncomfortable silence. It wasn't awkward or anything, just the type of silence where no one knew what to say because they all knew nothing would really help.

At 8 o'clock, when all of them were seated in front of the TV watching some musical Finn was sure he'd heard before but couldn't remember the name of, Artie, Brittany, Tina, Mike, and Mercedes showed up. As soon as the door was opened, they swarmed Rachel with hugs and—in the case of the girls—tears.

The brunette sat hunched in the middle of all of them, quietly thanking them for coming by. Finn stood a little off to the side and watched, worried and fretting. Even the sight of her friends failed to inspire the smallest of smiles. He couldn't remember a time that, no matter how sad, she hadn't managed to brighten her expression even a tiny bit for the benefit of those around her. He could tell, too, that the rest of the Glee Club spared him a number of glances, some confused (Brittany) and others concerned. They must've noticed Rachel's odd withdrawal too, because their chatter slowly died down to a few words here and there.

Finally, Mercedes out and out asked, "Girl, why did you call us? We'd have been their in a heartbeat."

Rachel crossed her arms, not in anger but in self-protection. Finn ached inside at the thought that she needed protection from them.

"I didn't think it was any of your business. It won't affect my participation in Glee so you don't have to worry," she explained, in that same soft, even voice Finn was beginning to hate.

"Not any of our business? We're your friends, Rachel," Tina protested. "We're not even worried about Glee right now. We're worried about you."

"That's nice," Rachel said. She still wouldn't look directly at any of them, preferring to focus on weaving her fingers together in her lap over and over. Leaning over her lap further, her hair fell forward and hid her face from view. "I appreciate your concern. But I don't need your pity."

"Rachel, this isn't about pity." Artie rolled his chair so he faced her. "What's going on? Why are you pushing us away?"

"Because you're not my friends! There's more to friendship than being there when it's convenient!" Rachel leapt to her feet, hands falling to her sides in clenched fists. She glared at them through red eyes. Her voice was sharp and high. "Besides, you all just pretend to like me, remember? If Kurt hadn't told you, none of you would even know about this. You never hang out with me outside of school, you never call me or text me or include me outside of Glee. I think that says it all right there. Don't pretend to like me just because you feel bad. I don't need any of you."

Tears were already spilling out her eyes again, coursing down her cheeks unchecked. Her lips trembled as she pressed them together too tightly, and shudders racked her body as she tried to force herself to be still.

"I don't need any of you," she whispered after a few minutes of silence. "I don't. Please just leave me alone."

Finn saw her legs begin to collapse beneath her before anyone else, and rushed forward, stepping around Artie, to scoop her up before she fell to the floor. He supported her against his chest, grateful that he, at least, wasn't being pushed away.

Her open-mouthed sobs were the only sound to fill the room. No one knew quite what to do other than stand around looking at the girl in Finn's arms.

Burt stepped forward, putting a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Maybe you guys should come back another time. Let her get some rest," he spoke quietly, not trying to hide it from Rachel but not wanting to draw her attention and risk upsetting her more.

The rest of the Glee kids filed out the door with one last backwards glance at Rachel and Finn, worry etched into every line of their faces. This was bigger than anything they'd deal with before, and it was starting to sink in that life had changed. Nothing was ever going to fix this; the only thing to do was deal with it.

Carole came up behind her son once the door was closed. "Why don't you take her upstairs and let her get some sleep?"

He nodded, putting one arm under her knees and lifting her off the ground. It was a good thing he'd been working out lately, because she wasn't heavy but she wasn't light either. As he carried her up the stairs to his room, his mom's voice echoed behind him, "The door stays open, Finn!"

* * *

Rachel found herself in the exact same spot as the night before, laying awake in Finn's bed, listening to the sound of his breathing. They hadn't turned to snores yet, so she knew he was still awake too, just silent. Probably waiting for her to say something (or start crying again).

Her cheeks hurt, her eyes burned, her body lacked any and all energy or will to move. This was ridiculous. It pissed her off that she felt so adrift. Lost, aimless, not knowing who to be or where to go or how to exist now that her world had to be restarted. How did anyone survive things like this? she wanted to know. Obviously, people did. Kurt had lost his mother and Finn his father, and at least one kid at school (that she knew of) lived in the foster care system after the death of his parents when he was little. So it was possible. Time heals, right? There was a song about it. Her dad used to play it when she was little and someone had made fun of her, a Todd Rundgren song.

She mouthed the words, singing along in her head and wondering what it would take to make her heart stop hurting.

_If you're crying, then everyone can see you crying_

_And they all sympathize but it just doesn't matter_

_Though they may be trying, they can't feel the hurt inside_

_You can't go on,_

_You've gone to the limit and your life seems to slip away_

_You're on your own,_

_Alone you must face it_

_and tomorrow's so far away_

_Time heals all wounds no one can see_

_Time heals all wounds that no one can see_

_Time heals all wounds no one can see_

_They say time heals all wounds that no one can see_

If other people could move on from loss, so could she. It might take her awhile, and she had no idea where to begin, but she decided then and there: she would go on. Her dads had raised her to be strong and independent, to be herself no matter what, her own person, and she would be damned if she failed them now. Her prayers would continue to revolve around the hope that her dad would wake up and together, they could heal. But she was not going to put her life on hold until that happened. The vacation would be spent at his bedside, but come January, she'd head back to school with the rest of her classmates.

It was easier to think than to do. No one would be there to make her banana and flax seed shakes in the morning, no one to see her out the door or tuck her in at night. No puttering about the house sounds to lull her to sleep. It'd be a big, empty, silent house.

She might have to move.

How would she move? She didn't know how to buy an apartment, or even how much money she had (did she have any)? How was she supposed to figure out this stuff on her own?

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and her vision welled up with the now familiar wetness. God, why couldn't she stop with the crying? It wasn't doing her any good. Nothing changed when she cried, she just got tired. Well, more tired than she already was. If this was the rest of her life—

No. No, she'd already decided. It would be hard, but she wasn't going to dissolve into a pile of blubbering-Rachel everyday.

Maybe one more time.

Burying her head in the pillow, inhaling the scent of FinnFinnFinn, she let the tears go, holding tightly to the sounds of her cries that she could feel as a solid lump in her chest. The only sound to escape were her harsh, halting breaths that she pressed into the pillow, biting down on the fabric because it was all she could do not to scream. She curled her fingers into the sheets so hard they ached.

A warm, solid mass slipped into the bed behind her, pressing up against her back. Finn's arms came around her, crushing her to him as he pried her fingers loose and threaded them with his own. His lips brushed beneath her ear, laying hard, frantic kisses against her skin, whispering over and over, "It's alright. It's okay. It'll all be okay. I love you. It'll be okay. It's going to be okay."

She forced herself to breathe through her nose. Inhale, hold and count to three, exhale. Inhale, hold and count to three, exhale. Repeat until her heart slowed to meet the steady pounding of Finn's against her back.

"What are we doing?" she asked, closing her eyes and turning back into the pillow even after her tears slowed.

He paused. "What do you mean?"

"What am I doing here? We're broken up. I'm not your responsibility anymore. Nothing's changed between us. I still kissed Puck," each sentence came slowly because she didn't want to say the wrong thing. She could not deal with more misunderstandings. "Don't make me rely on you, not now."

"Rachel . . . " He didn't know what to say. He couldn't understand why she was bringing all this up now, after last night together and all afternoon of him being right there with her. Surely she understood that he couldn't be mad at her, not now, and he couldn't turn his back on her.

"I want you to rely on me," he said, because the words were there and they wanted out. It probably wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever said, given Rachel's staunch position on femin-feminin—women's independence. But he couldn't help it. He wanted her to rely on him, to need him. It seemed only fair. He needed her.

She curled in on herself, pulling away, but he held tight. "I want you to rely on me, Rachel. Like I rely on you. You're my best friend, and even though we broke up, I still-I still love-I still care about you. I realized when you-when we-last night, I realized that I'd already forgiven you. I was just hurt. And mostly it was my pride, and yeah, I needed time, but then you—I can't stand to see you sad. It's not that I feel responsible for you. I just-I _can't_ not try to help."

He felt her squirm and loosened his grip. Twisting in his arms to face him, she looked him in the eyes and his heart broke all over again at the bleakness that stared back at him.

"If you love me," she asked, not avoiding the word as he had because they both knew what he was trying not to say, "why don't you ever defend me when I need you to? If you like me the way I am, why do you agree with the people who make fun of me? Why was _Puck_ the only one who spoke up when Santana said no one liked me? I _love_ you, Finn. I could never stand by and listen to someone insulting you, putting you down, without doing something to stand up for you. When you were afraid to take off your shirt for our production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, I defended you. I reassured you. I tried to help you feel better about yourself and understand how I see you because you deserve that. You deserve to know how wonderful you can be." Her face crumpled into tears. "Don't I deserve that? Don't I deserve to be protected, reassured, too? My dads used to do that, they used to tell me how beautiful I am and how talented and how sweet and now they're gone. Now there's no one."

This time her sobs were loud, broken cries that she smothered with his chest.

He cupped the back of her head with his hand, cradling her as firmly as his trembling arms allowed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what she was talking about with Puck and Santana. When had the cheerleader said something like that, and how could she have thought he wouldn't stand up for her? Of course he liked her, he loved her! Had it been recently? After their breakup, and he'd just not been paying attention, or before, when—

Oh, god. He remembered the greenroom before Sectionals, when Santana and Rachel had been yelling back and forth about something, and everyone in Glee admitted to knowing about his night with Santana and all he could think about was Rachel getting farther and farther away from him no matter how fast he ran to catch up and he _had _to make her see why none of that mattered!

It'd been then, hadn't it? Puck had been throwing in his two cents, or at least that's what Finn had thought was going on, but now he found out that once again, he'd lost to Puck where it most mattered. He'd been too busy panicking about losing her only to miss the most important shot he had at proving to her how much she meant.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair. There was nothing he could say to explain, not now with her in tears and his breath coming faster because he never wanted to be the cause of her tears again. "I promise you, I'll never let anyone treat you like that again. I do love you, more than-more than I should. I'm only sixteen, but god, Rach, I feel like I could spend the rest of my life with you and never regret a moment of it. If I could bring your dads back, I would do _anything_ it took. You deserve everything. You deserve to be happy, and successful, and to have your dreams come true. You deserve more than me, but I'm not going to let you go unless to tell me to."

The words came to mind and he opened his mouth, trying to find the pitch but knowing that wasn't the most important part right now. His tone was soft, light, hoarse with tears, all wobbly in a way that would be totally embarrassing if it were for anyone but Rachel.

_Lying beside you, here in the dark_

_Feeling your heartbeat with mine_

_Softly you whisper, you're so sincere_

_How could our love be so blind? We sailed on together_

_Drifted apart_

_And here you are by my side_

_So now I'll come to you with open arms_

_Nothing to hide, believe what I say_

_So here I am with open arms_

_Hoping you'll see what your love means to me_

_opens arms_

_Living without you, living alone_

_This empty house seems so cold_

_Wanting to hold you, wanting you near_

_How much I wanted you home_

_But now that you've come back_

_Turned night into day_

_I need you to stay_

_So now I'll come to you with open arms_

_Nothing to hide, believe what I say_

_So here I am with open arms_

_Hoping you'll see what your love means to me_

_open arms_

She steadily calmed, his hands running up and down her back in soothing loops and his voice lulling her to peace. Tears clung to her lashes as she looked up at him, snuggled as close to him as humanly possible so neither he nor she could shift or even breathe without the other feeling it. Without saying anything, she tucked her head in under his chin, nudging her nose in the crook of his neck and pressing a single, soft kiss against his skin.

"I love you," she whispered. "I don't know what to do. I just don't know where to go from here."

"I love you too," he said, grateful she wasn't pushing him away and so fucking happy she still trusted him even a little bit. "And you don't have to do anything or go anywhere right now. All you have to do is sleep. We'll deal with everything one day at a time, okay? One day at a time, and I'll be right here with you."

She nodded into his chest and allowed her eyes to close. Right now, this was all she needed. It was enough to get her through the night.

They fell asleep like that, wound together beneath the sheets.

When Carole Hudson walked by her son's room, she paused in the open doorway. Instead of disturbing them, she pulled the quilt up from the bottom of the bed and draped it over the teenagers, then left as quietly as she'd entered.

* * *

Merci pour l'avoir lu. Laissez moi une reponse, s'il vous plait!

Thanks for reading, y'all. And for your wonderful reviews. They help me update faster, I promise! I hope to get at least one more chapter out before the vacation (les vacances de Noël!), where I'll be mostly sleeping through the jetlag (ugh). I'll definitely be writing though! My internal clock will be waking me up at 2 in the morning, so I'll have plenty of alone, quiet time to write, so no story kind of exploded on me. It wasn't supposed to be more than a few chapters at most, but then Rachel's dads got in an accident and she didn't want to tell anyone, and yeah. Here we are.


	8. the curtains close on a kiss god knows

This was fucking ridiculous. Not only was it a week before Christmas, it had to fucking snow. With the morbidly cheery lights strung up along the church and its trees, the white blanket across everything but the freshly dug hole in the mud, and the distant buzz of Christmas carols from the nearby shopping center, Quinn's dad's funeral was turning into a parody of a winter wonderland. It was like a fucking Tim Burton movie, death and tears and black against a backdrop of holiday cheer.

Puck hated funerals. He'd only ever been to one, when his douchebag of an uncle died and his mom made him sit quietly through a three hour service.

This was worse. This was Quinn clinging to his side, Sam glaring daggers in his back, Mrs. Fabray clinging to his other side, and the rest of the Glee Club standing around in silence as the minister droned on and on about sins and forgiveness. He wasn't sure murdering a man and putting another in a coma (and leaving their admittedly annoying daughter alone and distraught) earned anyone forgiveness. He was pretty sure Mr. Fabray was going to hell, and he honestly couldn't think of a better place.

He'd gotten a phone call from Santana the day before that completely turned his world on its head, and considering he'd had a kid and watched her be given away, that was saying something. Quinn's dad was dead, and then he'd gotten _another_ call, and suddenly, not only was the man dead, he'd succeeded in killing one of Berry's dads and putting the other one in the hospital. This situation _sucked. _He'd wanted to go to see how Berry was holding up, because he had made that promise to God to be nicer to other Jews, and Berry was definitely his favorite girl-Jew (aside from his mom and sister, of course). And it wasn't like Quinn would appreciate his concern, given her complete and utter disregard for him since Beth had been born and lost.

Except then he'd gotten a third call. Quinn, sobbing, a muttered, "Oh god," and then the distinctive click as she'd hung up.

She may not have meant to call him, or wanted to, but he took it as a sign. A good sign, especially considering that by the time he got to her house, she'd locked herself inside and refused to let anyone in, even her little Ken doll (with the enormous mouth. Dude, what was with that anyway?).

So he'd done what he did best: he broke in to her second story bedroom window. And he'd been the one she'd cried on all afternoon.

And all night.

And now here he was, getting cried on again. His only comfort was the knowledge that Finn was having to deal with the same. (And, okay, he also got a kick out of seeing Sam standing off to the side by himself, looking awkward as usual with his hugely annoying mouth).

Mr. Schu and the rest of Glee (minus Rachel and Finn, of course) stood lining the other side of the coffin, all of them dressed head to toe in black and looking tearful. Well, all of them except Santana, who looked more bored than anything. He could related, but god, that girl was starting to get on his nerves. She was hot and all, but sex with her was getting old and really, she wasn't good for much else.

Still, she was hot, so he certainly wouldn't turn her down as long as she was putting out.

Why the hell she wore a cross around her neck though, he couldn't figure the fuck out. Then again, she _had_ been vice-president of the celibacy club, which had been his whole reason for joining in the first place. At the time, he'd figured it was because of her ties to Quinn, but not that the two girls were barely tolerating one another, he just didn't see why Santana felt like keeping up the act of being a good little Christian.

She must have noticed his glance because she glanced up, twisted her lips in a smirk, and mouthed an invitation, "You, me, my house, 3 o'clock," and topped it off with a kiss.

For the first time ever, he wasn't turned on. Did she seriously just proposition him over a grave while his ex-whatever watched her dad get buried and his other ex-whatever was at home with Finn bawling her eyes out over the death of _her_ dad? Dude, he wasn't heartless. Not to mention, he didn't think Quinn was willing to let go of his arm anytime soon, and he wasn't about to force her. He also owed a visit to the hospital to see Berry, and something about putting all that off to screw Santana seemed like a really bad idea. He had much more important things to do right now, and frankly, the cheerleader wasn't worth the risk to his manhood if Quinn ever found out.

Santana's boobs were huge now, sure, but they didn't move right anymore when she bounced on top of him (he never thought he'd say this, but implants _sucked)_, and though she sucked like a fucking hoover, it was a rare occasion that she put her mouth to good use. Mostly she wasted it with her bitching, or worse, with her talking.

So he ignored her pout, and continued to daydream about Super Mario Bros instead of paying attention to whatever the minister was going on about now. Seriously, how long does it take to say bye and shove him in the ground? Pour some dirt on him, and be done with it.

When it was all over and done with, he escorted Quinn and her mom back to their car, then back to their house, then inside to eat a small, pre-prepared lunch the neighbors had brought over. The blonde still wasn't looking at him, but that was fine as long as she wasn't looking at Sam either. The rest of the Glee Club had agreed to go to the hospital after the funeral, to be with Rachel. He'd be heading over there himself once he extracted himself from the Fabray's (and make sure Quinn would be fine for the few hours he'd be out). Of course, he couldn't be sure she'd let him back in once he left, so he'd swiped one of the spare keys to the house. Just in case.

"Hey, Quinn," he shoved his hands in his pockets as he cornered her in the kitchen. "You gonna be okay if I head out for a bit?" He didn't mention Rachel. Anytime the girl's name was even alluded to, Quinn burst into tears all over again.

"Yeah," she said, still refusing to look at him as she checked on the casserole in the oven. "Go ahead. Tell Rachel-tell her I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"No?" she asked, whipping around and getting strands of her hair stuck on her damp cheeks. "Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"Because you're a decent person," Puck said, slamming his hands down on the counter in front of him. "And because your dad did a really shitty thing. You can feel bad for Rachel, and sorry that this happened to her, but you are not in any way responsible. Okay?" He leaned forward until they were nose to nose across the island in the kitchen.

She laughed, that one she learned when she was pregnant and her world was falling apart. "It's not that simple."

"Then what's the issue?" He wanted to know, because it seemed pretty damn simple to him.

Okay, that was a lie, but damned if he didn't have a clue how to fix any of this for any of them. And that was frustrating as hell.

"Because I've been awful to her!" she shouted, flinging her hands about only partly to ward him off. "Even after everything she's done for me, I've been horrible to her because she's Rachel freaking Berry and she's a conceited little brat. She makes it so _easy_. But this-this is bad, Puck. I never would've wished-I never wanted," she looked away, "I don't know how to deal with her now. It sounds awful but I've always known she'd take whatever crap I gave her. She'd still come back for more and try and be friendly. And I guess, I'd always have a back-up, you know? Someone who was less popular than me no matter what I did, and someone who, if I absolutely had no one else, I could count as a friend if I ever got that desperate. Now, now I'm afraid. That she won't be able to look at me or forgive me for what my father did. God, I sound like such a bitch."

He had no idea how to reply to that. If he agreed, she'd fucking kill him. If he dismissed her concerns, she'd never take him seriously ever again. And if he was noncommittal in his response, she'd fucking kill him.

How did women expect responses to things like this? What could he possibly say that she would take seriously or not be insulted by? 'Cause frankly, she was right. She was a bit of a bitch. He liked it. But that didn't mean it wasn't true. Berry had every right to hate Quinn, and himself, actually, but somehow she didn't. He couldn't guarantee she wouldn't turn to hate now.

Fuck it, she wasn't his girlfriend (anymore). He didn't have to be gentle.

"Yeah, well, I don't know what you want me to say. Most of us have been absolute shitheads to her and the fact that she considers us her friends is, well, it's pathetic. On both sides. So yeah, she might hate you now. And yeah, that will suck. Not much we can do about it now except maybe try and be there for her as actual friends, you know? Not because she's in Glee, but because she's not so bad once you get to know her and sure, it's obnoxious, but she never really says anything that isn't true. So she's brutally honest, and completely aware of how talented she is. I kinda like it. I'm not gonna tell you what to do, but I'm going over there to see her and whatever. Be there, I guess." He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked on the balls of his feet a few times, then turned around to leave.

"I'll be back in a couple hours."

* * *

"So what does this mean? Are we back together?" Rachel asked, without turning to look at him from her seat next to her dad's bed. He wished he could see her eyes or her lips, because they were always what he used to judge her mood and what she was thinking. What was going on in her mind, what she was feeling—damnit, he really wanted to be a physicist. (Wait, no, psychic. Yeah, he wanted to be psychic.) He wanted to know just the right, perfect thing to say.

"I want to be," he breathed, worried she'd say no, worried what brought this up and why her voice was so dull. He'd thought-he'd assumed they were. She slept with him, after all, and one thing he knew about Rachel was that she wouldn't just give her virginity to anyone she wasn't in love with and dating. Right? "Do you? Want to be together, I mean?"

She bowed her head, and his heart sank.

"I want to be," she echoed.

"But?"

Finally, she looked over to him. Her eyes were dry and red, almost blank in a way he'd never imagined could happen. "Do you know how much you hurt me? I know that I-that what I did was wrong and I know you said it messed you up. But it messed me up too. And I-I don't know what to do. Because if we are together and you hurt me again, I don't know how I'd-I don't—I _couldn't_ deal with it. Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry you got hurt but that wasn't my intention and that's why I lied, I didn't want to see you hurt. I promised you before no more lies, and I meant it. No more lies. I don't have anymore secrets and I _love_ you. I'll do anything to not hurt you. You have to know that."

"I _don't_ know that, Finn." She still hadn't raised her voice, and that, more than anything, terrified him. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, and then her eyes met his again, glistening, as her voice broke, "Why did you sleep with her?"

"Because you were with Jesse!" he shouted, frustrated and confused and terrified she was going to break up with him (if they were even back together yet). "Because you were planning on giving him your virginity and you'd lied to me about dating him and it _hurt_, damn it! I thought I could trust you! So yeah, she offered and I figured why the hell not? It seemed only fair. You knew how I felt about you and Jesse and you went and did it anyway, and I just-I wanted—" He cut himself off because he'd realized what he was about to say and didn't want to put it into words. Hear it aloud. Because that would make it real.

"Because you wanted to hurt me," she finished for him. "I guess we're both a little mean."

This time he was the one who couldn't meet her gaze. He'd always held himself to such high standards, only lately, he'd been finding himself less and less the man he wanted to be. There were so many things he regretted.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, swallowing hard. "I did it to hurt you, I knew it would hurt you, and that's why I didn't want to say anything. And I'm sorry. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. It meant nothing, you have to know that. I don't give a damn about Santana or anyone else. Just you."

When she didn't respond, he continued, "Please, Rachel."

"It's not that simple," she said.

He fought the urge to beg. How could someone so small have so much power over him? "Then what is it? Why can't you forgive me?"

"It isn't about forgiveness, Finn." Her eyes were solemn. "You have to understand, I was so _mad_ at you after your little fling with Brittany and Santana. I told myself, 'He has a lot of growing up to do before I could possibly be with him.' I told myself that you weren't the guy I'd thought you were, and that made it okay to move on. Easier. And then you told me how you couldn't go through with-with it because you were waiting for the right person, and I thought, maybe, that you'd grown up. That you'd realized how fake and cruel girls like Santana are. And I guess I started thinking maybe I'd been wrong and you were the guy I'd thought you were originally, only you'd been hurt by Quinn and Puck and you were trying to get over the blow to your pride. I hoped," she broke off with a dry, heaving sob, "I thought you had the same idea about sex that I do, that it doesn't need to be saved for marriage necessarily, but that it's still something special to be shared with someone you love. Not just anyone. I-I stupidly assumed you might be waiting for _me_, that I might be worth waiting for. Only to find out I'm not, from the girl who has tormented me since middle school, in front of people who don't even like me. Not only was I not worth waiting for, _you _weren't the guy I thought you were. You didn't even try to-to explain or reassure me or anything! You lost your virginity to the sluttiest girl in school! That shows how much sex means to you—it means nothing! If you'd been with Quinn, I could've understood because you care about her and I get that. But I _know_ you don't even like Santana, and you slept with her anyway!"

Each worded echoed in the small room, accompanied by the eternal beeping of the monitors, half of them floating above his head because he couldn't even catch up with what she was saying. But he got the gist of it. He wanted to open his mouth to protest, to grab her and shake until she understood how much sex—sex with _her_, the girl he loved—meant to him. Nothing seemed to be working. His brain couldn't send any signals other than shock. Disbelief. She-she was disappointed in him. And that knowledge hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt. He wondered if this was how it felt to have your heart ripped out of your chest and eaten right in front of you.

She buried her face in her hands, shuddering breaths dissolving into broken cries and her words muffled, scattered, barely comprehensible through her fingers, "I love you. I hate that I still love you but I do and I can't stop. Even knowing you lied."

"Rachel," he couldn't breathe and he fell to his knees at her feet, taking her hands in his and pulling them away so he could see her. "I love you too. I do, so much. And I'm so sorry. But I do value being with you, having sex with you, it means so much more than I can say. Please believe me when I say I regret ever agreeing to Santana's offer, I regret every moment and it meant absolutely nothing and I swear to you I spent the rest of the night bawling like a fucking baby because I realized how stupid I'd been and I thought if I just pretended hard enough, it wouldn't have happened."

"Do you have any idea how it feels," she wanted to know, "to know that I will _never_ measure up to her? She's got so much experience and she knows what she's doing and she's not shy at all or timid or uncertain. She's super hot and her breasts are twice as big as mine and she's not some awkward loser dwarf—"

"Don't! Don't you dare talk about yourself like that! You're not a dwarf, you're small, like pocket-sized and it's great because I can hold you and protect you and you fit perfectly with me. You're not awkward or a loser, and I don't care about any of that other stuff! She's the one who won't ever measure up to you because you're so out of her league it isn't possible for her to ever catch up. She's a bitch and she's fake and it lasted all of ten seconds. I was embarrassed and mortified and disgusted and guilty and used-feeling and it was awful. That night with you—it was the best night of my life. That was what my first time should have been. It was-it was perfect and it was love and it _meant_ something. It meant everything. I love _you_. Please, please believe me when I say that."

She cried, collapsing downward, inward, until her forehead rested against his shoulder as he knelt before her. He could hear every halted breath, every stifled whimper, each sound yanking hard on his heart. Without conscious thought, he stood, sweeping her up into his arms, and settled himself down in her seat, cradling her against him and marveling at how perfectly she fit on his lap, head tucked under his chin. The beeping heart monitor echoed in his ears like his own heartbeat.

Rachel curled her fingers into his shirt, pressing her face into his neck and mouthing words he felt rather than heard, "I want to be with you too. Please, don't let me go."

He wouldn't. Right then and there, he swore to himself never to let her go and never intentionally hurt her again. One day in the future, he'd swear it to her out-loud and to all their friends and family, and though he knew inevitably he'd do something stupid along the way and hurt her inadvertently, he would never, ever again set out to be mean.

* * *

Joyeuses Fêtes!

So yeah, this is a Finchel story, and will remain one, but I've always preferred Quick to Quam so that's in there too. I won't be expanding much on that, it's a background thing because while I like Sam as a character, I think he's really boring with Quinn. Like, really boring. More boring than Tina and Mike.

Anyway, sorry this took so long. Got stuck in the airport for a looong while thanks to the snow, and now I've got family bustling about and getting in the way of my writing. But I shall hopefully have the next chapter up soon!

Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! Have a merry Christmas!

Thanks for reading, and please remember to review!


	9. we can tell the end is near

Finn watched as Puck swept Rachel up into a hug and wondered how on earth he was going to deal with watching them together ever again. They were in Glee together, so avoiding seeing the two of them interact was impossible, and they'd been paired together for songs before only it hadn't hurt to watch then because he'd thought, at most, they were acquaintances. Maybe friends, on a good day.

Now he noticed every place Puck put his hands, every tilt of Rachel's head against his chest, every movement their lips made in relation to each other.

This was insane.

The whole Glee Club—minus Santana (thank _God_), Quinn and Sam—crowded into the hospital room. The ones who'd stopped by the night before looked awkward, arms crossed over chests and faces set in that expression of torn discomfort. Mr. Schu stood out in the hallway with Ms. Pillsbury, and Finn thought he looked kind of pissed. He kept jabbing his finger in the direction of the room, and had that lecture face he used frequently on the club.

It was like something from a whacked-out dream.

Mercedes and Brittany brought forward a large, colorful bouquet that they set on the bedside table.

"We got your back," Puck spoke up after he'd finally let Rachel go, "Anything you need, got it?"

"Yeah, you know you can count on us for anything," Mercedes added.

"We're so sorry you thought we didn't like you. We do. I mean, we're not here because we feel bad for you, we want to be there for you. Because we _are_ your friends," Tina said. She let her grip on Mike's hand fall in order to wrap Rachel up in another hug.

Rachel was silent, and Finn couldn't be sure if it was because she'd forgiven them or not. Maybe she just wasn't paying that much attention. Her gaze was blank, looking past everyone and everything as if not understanding a word they said. He'd worry except she'd been more normal with him earlier and he couldn't expect her to be her old self right away. If ever.

That potential terrified him.

But he'd do his best. And he'd make sure the rest of the club started treating her right, because she'd had a point: he'd been a coward. It wasn't how a leader should act, letting his girlfriend get made fun of all the time and put down. They were co-captains, partners, now lovers—it was his _job_ to protect her.

If protecting her from Puck happened to fit in with his duty, well, he wasn't going to complain.

He might not be the most emotionally connected guy in the world, but even he could sense the tension mounting in the room as everyone stood around in a lumpy circle, waiting for someone to say something or do something other than just stand there. More than anything, he wanted to know what Rachel was thinking, how she was dealing with all this. Unfortunately, he struggled to understand her at the best of times.

Finally, Rachel obviously couldn't stand it anymore. She bit her lip, then gave in and spoke, "Thanks."

One word was better than nothing, right?

Brittany smiled and answered for them all, "You're welcome."

Awkward silent fell again. Rachel shifted her feet in front of him, and he resisted the urge to put his hands in his pockets because he needed to not look intimidated or uncomfortable. Rachel was relying on him to be there for her and he was going to be the support, the leader, the steady guy she needed right now.

Maybe he should say something. Rachel needed to eat and his stomach was about to start eating him (they hadn't had lunch yet today and breakfast was so rushed he'd barely managed to finish his second bowl of cereal). They should probably get lunch. Except if everyone came, they'd be stuck in more of this awkward shifting of eyes and feet. Seriously, the club hadn't been this bad since the very beginning when Quinn had only joined to keep an eye on him and they were still missing all the guys but him and Artie. And he still had no idea what Mr. Schu was talking with Ms. Pillsbury about, but neither one of them looked happy.

In fact, they looked like they might cry, and he hoped they didn't because he's seriously had enough of tears to last him a lifetime. And somehow watching an adult cry was worse than watching someone his own age cry, because they were always supposed to be in control and composed and, you know, grown up. If even the adults couldn't deal, what did that say about his chances?

Ironically, it was Puck who saved him from having to decide what to do. The other boy stepped forward.

"Look, I gotta get back to Quinn," Puck looked awkward for once in his life, but he continued regardless, "She wanted me to tell you she's sorry. She's pretty upset with this whole thing too. I know it's probably not the most sensitive thing to say, but I just want to ask you not to blame her for this."

"I don't," Rachel answered.

"Good." Puck shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Cause I think the two of you could help each other out with this. You know, as friends or something."

Finn wanted to snort but didn't. It sounded logical, but didn't Puck realize who he was talking about? Quinn and Rachel? They'd never gotten along. Ever. He didn't think this was the time to try and bring the two together as friends. Thankfully Puck left quickly, because Finn wanted to bash his face in a few times for giving Rachel a hug, for talking to her like he knew what was best, for that fucking obnoxious smirk on his face as he met Finn's gaze and walked out.

The others followed, giving excuses or politely offering to stay (and being turned down just as politely). Finn felt like an observer watching a movie, not a participant in a real life scenario. The more the situation sunk in, the more unreal it seemed. They were Glee Club, a team, and Rachel was their bubbly, drama-addicted leader but all of this made any sort of normal almost impossible to reach.

When it was just him and Rachel (and Kurt), it was easy to think of things going back to normal. Life had changed, sure, but not irrevocably, and it would all go back to the way it was once school started back, right?

Wrong. Faced with the rest of the club and the real world intruding into what had been just a world of Finn-and-Rachel, he'd been slapped in the face with the knowledge that nothing, not one thing, would get through this unscathed. From here on out, nothing would ever be the same no matter how hard the tried and no matter how much he wished. He had no power over any of it; things were just changed without him even having a say so.

It was sobering. He'd always thought that if he just tried hard enough, he would have some measure of control. His life was his own, right? And no one could take away something he didn't want to let go of.

Except they could. And they had.

As he led Rachel down to the hospital cafeteria, he took her hand and tried not to imagine a future in which everything was different from the way he'd pictured it. Even if things didn't go back to the way they were before, even if Rachel never recovered from this, he told himself he would be there. He felt like the ground beneath him was warping and tilting and threatening to throw him off, and he wasn't sure he could guarantee something like that even to himself. But he was determined to be that man, be the one who could be relied on, and so he would be. It didn't matter how uncertain he was. He knew who he wanted to be and so that's who he would be, no matter what else life threw his way.

A few weeks ago, hell, a week ago, he'd have thought that the desire to be one way was enough to make him that way. Being a leader was more than just wanting to be one. He was gonna have to make an effort, stand up even when he really didn't want to, and be the one Rachel could turn to no matter what she needed. (Never again would _Puck_ be the only one to speak in her defense.) He was gonna do it. Even if it sucked and it hurt and it was hard, he was gonna be that man. He wasn't exactly sure how, but he consciously made the choice on who he was going to be, and he would stick by it.

His stomach growled, and he really hoped the cafeteria had burgers. All this self-reflection tied his head in knots and made him hungry, but even he recognized it was necessary. He couldn't screw it up with Rachel again. Not now, not anymore.

* * *

Mr. Schu approached her once Finn had headed off in search of a bathroom. She wasn't sure if that was deliberate or not. There was the ever-present voice in her head reminding her that Mr. Schu had tried on numerous occasions to unfairly impede her career so clearly he had it out for her.

She didn't want to talk to him. He'd taken what had been an already horrible week and made it worse; he'd taken one more thing that should've been hers and given it to Santana, of all people, who did nothing to deserve it. He yelled about being sick of _her_ attitude, but what about Santana's? Wasn't that attitude even worse? At least when she criticized people it was true. And constructive. She critiqued; Santana terrorized. And bitched and moaned and betrayed them only a year before. Who had been the gracious one to forgive the cheerleaders for their backstabbing? She did, of course. Because the team needed cohesion at Sectionals and she was willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Yeah, she was the least team player in the club. Mr. Schu really needed to start paying more attention to his students and less to his love life.

Not that she would be any better. Of course, she was smart enough to know never become a teacher. The teacher's job revolved around other people; she simply didn't want to do that.

And okay, yes, she was selfish and self-centered. She acknowledged that. At least she didn't try to hide it, or act like she really wasn't when, to be quite perfectly honest, she'd never met someone who wasn't selfish and self-centered.

"Can I help you with something, Mr. Schu?" she asked as he stood in the doorway, hands braced on his hips and eyes lined with red, somehow blank looking.

"Why did you ask Mrs. Howell to not tell me, not tell us, this? You know we'd have come right away, Rachel." She loved how he had this way of sounding so disappointed in her no matter what the words were, even when complimenting her. Why did he seem to think she could handle his honest criticisms and opinions when he was always careful not to hurt others' feelings?

She shrugged. "I wanted privacy. This is personal and I wanted people I trust and who love me to be here. I can't help it if the Glee Club doesn't fit with those criteria."

He tilted his head down at her in disapproval. "That's not fair, Rachel. I know things were a little rough for awhile, but they've settled down now. We're a family. Of course we all love—"

"Don't. Don't even. Okay? You and I both know how few people in Glee give a damn about me, and by few, I pretty much mean Finn. And even him, sometimes I wonder. So don't feed me lies just because you pity me," she glared at him as she enunciated each word. "I don't. Need. Pity."

His face paused between startled and concerned, and he stood that way silently for several moments. She thought maybe he was seeing for the first time that the family they'd formed in Glee Club was as superficial as any of its members. They were all so fucking superficial. So hollow and meaningless. They stuck together to win, but when things got rough, they were experts at bailing without looking back.

How could they be family when they could barely stand to be in the same room for rehearsal?

Maybe she was being too cynical. What would people think to know that Rachel Berry was being too cynical? It was like—well, she didn't feel like searching for the appropriate Broadway metaphor. Metaphors were all well and good but they wouldn't make her feel better now. And thinking about Broadway only reminded her of sitting in the audience of _Phantom of the Opera _and _Rent _with her dads, knowing that one day she'd be up there and having her dads buying her a souvenir from every show.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he finally answered, his entire body falling forward with the force of his sigh. "We are here for you if you need us. It isn't pity, Rachel. We care about you."

He was almost out the door when he paused, half turning back to face her. "We _are_ a family. Sometimes families are the hardest people to get along with. They have the most power to hurt us. I think you'll find that if Glee Club hadn't become the family we are, you wouldn't be so hurt when they say nasty things to you. But the part that makes them worthwhile is that when things go bad, family is there for you no matter what. No matter how dysfunctional, a family rallies together at the worst of times and comes out stronger for it. And we'll be there, Rachel."

"Hey, Mr. Schu," Finn announced his presence on the other side of the doorway, glancing back and forth between his mentor and his girlfriend. Neither one looked happy, which was understandable, but he couldn't seem to figure out why they both suddenly got quiet at his appearance.

"Hey, Finn," the teacher gave a slight smile and patted the younger man's shoulder. "I was just letting Rachel know we're all here for her."

"Oh yeah, of course." Finn smiled over at his girlfriend. She smiled back with only half of her mouth.

* * *

The rest of the break passed in a blur of days in the hospital and nights in front of the TV with his family then cuddled up with Rachel in his bed. His mom hadn't been thrilled with the idea at first, but she'd let it fly as long as the door stayed open and (he'd been mortified when she handed them to him) he kept a box of condoms in his bedside drawer. Not that he and Rachel had been up to anything more than the occasional kiss. He wasn't sure if it was because she just wasn't in the mood (which he got, he did. He didn't have that problem, but he understood how she might not feel like fooling around) or if they were working out their issues before jumping back into the physical. And honestly, it didn't bother him very much because she'd actually smiled a few times at his lame jokes, and he'd gotten her to laugh when they'd watched _Spaceballs _for what had to be the hundredth time (it was one of the only movies he owned, while Rachel's vast collection was still holed up in her room back home where she'd refused to go).

That was progress. He _liked _progress. He just wished it didn't take so long.

Members of the Glee Club came and went during the days at the hospital, and Brittany had gotten into the habit of bringing over home-cooked meals every night that actually weren't too bad. She claimed recipes confused her and she made up her own, but whatever she was doing was pretty good. Finn wasn't sure he wanted to know what exactly was in the food, though. It tasted good and kept his mom from having to feed all of them every night, so he appreciated the effort.

Whether or not Rachel was softening to the others was beyond him. She'd been mostly quiet around everyone, so it was hard to judge. She'd refrained from any new out-and-out dismissals of them, which he took to be a good sign. She didn't cry anymore though, which worried him more than if she sobbed every day. Still, the only thing he could do was wait and see. And promise to be there when and if she needed him.

Life had almost fallen into a comfortable, if boring, routine. But the start of school would ruin all that, and put them all back into the real world with reputations and school work and high school drama. Not to mention, rumors, jocks, Santana, Coach Sylvester, Santana, football, Regionals, Santana, the Cheerios, Quinn (the two girls had yet to actually meet face to face since the accident—Puck had passed polite messages back and forth between them which he thought was good. Weird, but good), and what he hated most of all, time apart. She'd be in class away from him and if she needed him, he wouldn't know, and worse, wouldn't be able to get there if he did. Teachers tended not to like it when you dropped everything and left their class, even if it was for a good cause like comforting your girlfriend (or going to the bathroom, because man, cafeteria food could do weird things to your stomach).

And he had no clue what the school would do when they found out she was living with him. Could they even do anything? Probably. Seemed to him like somehow the school had a hand in everything. He did know that the paperwork for temporary emancipation was still being processed. Were there rules for where she should be in the meantime?

He didn't care. She wasn't going anywhere as long as he had any say in it.

Kurt had been sent back to Dalton the day before, and his mom had officially moved Rachel's things into his room. (Rachel said it was a hint, but he wasn't sure what the hint would be about.) The first morning back at school, he and Rachel had shown up together and walked through the halls to their lockers, hands held. People looked and pointed, and the Cheerios sneered, but overall, it was exactly as things had been before their break-up. He liked it. It felt normal.

Classes were exhausting, but normal. He curled around his desk in the back of the room and jerked himself awake every few minutes. Rachel poked him in the side with a pencil if he started snoring.

At lunch, he dragged Rachel to his usual table with the football guys that he actually liked. He'd done it before, so thought nothing of it aside from keeping her with him as much as possible. A handful of Cheerios were scattered between the jocks, Brittany, Santana, and Quinn among them. He still didn't think much of it until Santana opened her mouth.

"So man-hands, heard about what happened to your dads. So does this mean you'll finally be moving back to Israel?" the Cheerio blew a kiss at Finn to punctuate her comments.

"Santana!" Quinn snapped, her voice sharp and high. Her glare clearly called for silence.

"Oh come on, _Mommy_. Don't pretend you give a damn about her just because she's suddenly an orphan. It's not making her any less obnoxious. In fact, if she's going to be all crying, poor-little-me all the time, I'm seriously gonna have to strangle her. It's not like we need her voice anymore, anyway," Santana said, managing a sneer in both Quinn and Rachel's direction. She tossed her head back and forth, ponytail swinging, as she finished, "seeing as _I'm_ the one who got us Sectionals."

"You didn't get us anything," Rachel spoke up, her jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed into deep lines. "We _tied _at Sectionals in the worst performance we've ever done. If I had been the lead, there would've been no question as to the winner. You have a good voice, Santana, but you don't have much power behind it and it's limited to a specific style. My voice doesn't need a microphone to project, and let's face it, is the most versatile out of all of us. You might have gotten us tied at Sectionals, but I'm going to _win_ us Nationals.

"I might be obnoxious and slightly arrogant, but at least I'm not an insecure bitch filled with so much self-hatred that I have to make everyone else around me miserable in order to feel good about myself. And unlike you, I know that I'm worth more than just my body. I don't need a boob-job to be attractive, and I don't need to sleep with every guy who walks by just to prove to myself that I'm worth something. I'm going to look back on my life and be proud of who I am and what I've done. But you? When you look back what will you see?" Rachel paused, her voice raised with the force of her rant, and her eyes locked resolutely on Santana's. Finn felt her hand clench his in her grip, trembling slightly where they were clasped beneath the table. "Meaningless sex and hate, Santana. That's what you have. You have one friend—the one person in the world you don't seem to have it out for—and you've never even had a real boyfriend. No guy will have you and why should they? They get what they want from you for free. Sadly, the only thing they want is physical. I _pity_ you. I'm the school loser that everyone supposedly hates, who just lost her parents and _I_ pity _you_. I think that says it all right there."

With that, she did what Rachel did best, no matter what was going on in her life, and stormed out of the cafeteria. She took the time to toss her lunch in the garbage as she passed and even that didn't detract from her ability to stalk dramatically from a room and catch all the attention. Finn felt the grin on his face before he even registered the bubbling in his chest as pride.

That was his girl. She'd just thoroughly put down the biggest bully in school and looked really hot doing it. And she'd done it without being cruel. He might've come to terms with his girlfriend's imperfections—she could be mean, he remembered vividly—but she was never cruel.

Hesitant applause broke out from some of the other tables. Quinn joined in, and Puck followed, laughing his head off. The only reaction from Santana was a crossing of her arms, the haughty expression on her face never changing even as her eyes narrowed in the direction Rachel had gone.

His girlfriend was _awesome._

* * *

She was sick and tired of Santana Lopez. She was sick and tired of the stupid hierarchy in this school, and she was sick and tired of being nice. Her dads had taught her to be the better person, to not stoop to other's levels and she'd always followed that advice. So what if sometimes she was abrasive, she was only trying to help. Her criticism of others was _constructive_, not malicious. She'd always made a conscious effort to avoid insulting others but this was too much.

The next time Santana said anything rude or cruel about her, she was filing a harassment suit. The next time someone threw a slushy in her face, she'd go straight to Principal Figgins and if he refused to do anything, she'd go directly to the school board with all the backing of the ACLU of Ohio. She was done being bullied.

Somehow, she'd always believed that the people who'd been awful to her would get what was coming to them. Karma or something like that, where good people were rewarded and bad people were punished. Now she knew better. Bad things happened to good people, and bad people just kept doing whatever they wanted with no consequences. Santana was one of the most popular girls in school despite being cruel to everyone, and guys all wanted to sleep with her no matter how badly she treated them. Karofsky was still at school while Kurt had been forced to transfer, and the jock had not lost anything, not even his spot on any of the sports teams. Her dads had been the best people she'd ever known, kind and open minded and willing to compromise, able to smile and be polite no matter how rude people were to them. And they'd been killed.

Her dad was still alive, but it was hard to think of him as such when he was just gone. All the time. Not talking to him, not seeing him around, not listening to his awful singing in the shower—they might as well both be dead. The longer the coma lasted, the less hope she had of ever having a parent again. She tried to cling to hope, tried to be optimistic. But it was hard. It was so _hard_ and it was everyday a struggle.

She'd stalked out of the cafeteria and into the auditorium, seating herself on the edge of the stage and looking out over the empty seats. Empty seats. That had to be some kind of metaphor. An audience of empty seats. She was pretty sure the audience would always be empty without her dads there. No one else really mattered. It'd never really occurred to her before. After all, she adored the attention of the stage. It didn't matter who gave it, attention was like a drug. Admiration even more so. Being applauded at the center of attention had been her goal from the day of her birth, and yet now, now she couldn't imagine caring. Because her dads weren't there.

Was it selfish to want that feeling back? The one where she knew if she just stood under the spotlights and sang her heart out, everything would be better. She wanted to stand on the stage and look out over the enthralled audience and feel—exhilarated. At home. Needed. Loved.

She missed her dads so much. Two weeks and she still couldn't seem to accept that she was on her own. It helped that Finn was there, of course, but this feeling in her chest—it hurt so bad. Sometimes she feared it might kill her, this ache in her chest that threatened her ability to breathe. Would it ever go away? Get better? She couldn't imagine it. There was a big gaping hole inside of her and wounds like that never heal, do they? Not really.

She was so sick of being sad. How selfish. Only two weeks and already she thought she had the right to feel better?

But it wasn't about the right. It was about how much she could stand. And to go through life, day after day, so exhausted by the pain festering inside of her, it seemed impossible to continue. One day at a time worked great as a philosophy, but it was hard in practice. There were times when the world around her was so quiet no amount of distraction on her part could prevent her mind from seeing the endless stretch of days—sad, hurting, longing days that would never, ever be the way she wanted them to be. It made it hard to care about other people's comments, when there were such bigger problems than whether or not Santana Lopez had it out for her. A month ago, being so dressed-down and demeaned in full view of the entire school—and Finn—would've sent her away in tears.

Now, though, her tears were for a different reason. A better reason.

Tears welled in her eyes, occasionally spilling over her cheek or getting stuck in her lashes. Rachel Berry reduced to tears in the auditorium. Nothing new about that.

Except everything was new. Because she wasn't that Rachel Berry anymore.

* * *

Whew. Sorry about the wait on this one. It's been a hectic month. I also struggled to get through this chapter, as you might be able to tell. It doesn't seem to flow as well as the others, but for some reason, my Glee Muse was napping for most of the month.

This story is finishing up! One chapter left, maybe an epilogue depending on how I feel it needs to end. We'll see how the next bit of writing goes. I don't want to drag the story on longer because I know my track record with long stories is poor and I want to finish this. You guys have been so great with your reviews and comments, and I appreciate every one of them. So I don't want to have to leave you hanging. Therefore, I'm wrapping it up as neatly as I can. I honestly feel like the story I wanted to tell has found its way to a closing point, and I'm cool with that.

Bah, I'm rambling. Anyway, next chapter should be up soon. Before the new Glee episodes start back, hopefully.

Also, I know it seems like I'm bashing Santana, but I honestly feel like this is how her character would react. I have seen not a single instance of her being a kind, compassionate human being in the show. Not one. No matter what was going on. So I really don't see her suddenly changing. If you're a fan of the girl, sorry, but I genuinely feel like she's an awful character. I know I would hate her in real life, and I'm willing to bet most people would. She's fun to hate, but I'd appreciate a little character development on the show. Too much to ask for? Yeah, I thought so too.

It's also difficult because while Rachel is one of my favorite characters, I find myself disliking Lea Michele more and more. The more I hear about her as a person, the more I dislike. Conundrum, huh? And I don't like Mr. Schu but I want to like him because I liked him last season.

Ah, well. Thanks for reading, and remember to review, please! (Please? Even though I don't deserve it for taking so long?)


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